Claiming Hermione
by ilke
Summary: “This doesn’t change anything, Granger. We’re not friends.” Draco said. “I know.” Hermione sat unmoving, listening to his retreating footfalls. She felt pretty certain that, in fact, it changed everything.
1. This doesn't change anything

"This doesn't change anything, Granger. We're not friends." Draco said.

"I know."

* * *

The dark forest was not particularly dark in the area where Hermione nimbly stepped over fallen branches and around rocks. In fact, the late summer Sunday sun was dappling cheerfully through the canopy and the air was thick with beams of light making little flying insects glow red and yellow as they flitted in and out of the rays. Hermione was musing with a light heart about how easy it had been to get Hagrid to give away the location of the large cropping of puffpinks she needed for the extra credit potion she intended to brew for Potions. Snape always took every opportunity to deduct points from Gryffindor and from her. She was also certain that being Head Girl would only encourage him to look for excuses. Though it was still early in the term, she intended to get the top marks in the class. Her paper bag was full now and clutched loosely in her hand as she made her way back towards the castle.

In her peripheral vision, a sudden movement on the ground caught her eye and had her whipping out her wand and standing stock still, breath stuck in her throat.

She could see a sliver of black among the maze of tree trunks. It stood out in the green forest as something unnatural that didn't belong. No sound gave away any information and she carefully peered around the trees to get a better look. Wand trained in front of her, Moody's cries of "Constant vigilance!" repeating in the back of her head, she nearly dropped her bag and her wand when the scene was fully revealed.

Draco Malfoy was sitting on the ground against a tree, head folded down onto his knees, his inky black robes speckled with a few dead leaves picked up from the forest floor. And he was…. _crying?_

Her first thought was that it was a trap. Her head turned left and right, even above, scanning the area for Death Eaters waiting in the shadows. Finding nothing, she looked back to Draco. His shoulders were shaking rather violently and he seemed totally unaware of her presence. The lack of sound suggested that he'd put up a silencing charm and suddenly she remembered. She was ashamed with herself that she could have put it out of her mind so easily and quickly. It was that morning, for crying out loud! The headline of that morning's Daily Prophet bellowed in large black letters, "MALFOYS DEAD". She'd shared a heavy glance with Ron and Harry, and none of them said anything. They may hate the Malfoy heir from his precious hair right down to his cultured drawl, but none of them was heartless enough to wish a fellow student's parents dead. She'd scanned the article quickly, not willing to spend much of her energy on the Head Boy. Lucius had escaped from Azkaban two nights prior and returned to Malfoy Manor in the early evening. He had taken Narcissa, forcibly it seemed, from the mess found by aurors the next day, to Voldemort. A study of her body indicated that she had been killed with repeated exposure to the Cruciatus curse. A study of Lucius's wand suggested that it had been at his hand. An Avada Kedavra had killed him within the following hour. No sign of an Imperious curse was evident on the senior Malfoy. Both bodies had been returned to Malfoy Manor.

She remembered looking over to the Slytherin table seeking out the Head Boy, but he was no where to be seen and upon further searching, she saw that Snape and Dumbledore were also missing. "Good," she'd thought, "they must be talking to him." With that, she'd dismissed the whole situation entirely, glad to not think about Malfoy. The only downside to being Head Girl was having to work with _him_ but she had been prepared for it for months and, as it was so early in the new year, they'd hardly interacted at all.

Now here she was, standing in front of a sobbing Malfoy, not really sure how to proceed. She should probably just leave. She was sure that Malfoy would not want to be discovered like this. In fact, he would probably be merciless in his retribution if he knew that she'd seen him. But her instincts prevailed over her reason. Mortal enemy he may be, but he was obviously distraught and she just couldn't ignore him, no matter what he had called her or done to her before. She stepped closer, inside the circle of his silencing charm. His sobs bouncing loudly off the trees were gut wrenching. Any hesitation she'd had was gone instantly. He looked up then, and his face was so filled with anguish that Hermione gasped aloud. His normally pale porcelain face was a harsh, blotchy red right up to the roots of his white blonde hair and down his neck, and his eyes were so puffy and bloodshot that the barely visible silver of his irises glowed. However, the runny nose he was neglecting was all the evidence needed to show that he was completely beside himself. They faced each other, both frozen in their own embarrassment.

He would lash out at her, yell at her to leave, maybe try to hex her, and who knows what else, and she waited for it. But she wouldn't leave. She would take what ever he had and hope it helped him feel a little bit better.

Hermione had never seen a man cry, and only a few boys at that. Even Harry, who had more reason to cry than most, had always held back his tears. When Sirius died, she had never witnessed him break down. Draco was seventeen and no longer the boy she'd started school with six years ago.

Watching the most controlled, masculine, albeit arrogant, man she knew, break down made her feel small, awkward, and a little frightened. It was much, much, much worse than when a woman cried.

Staring motionless at each other, she steeled herself internally for his onslaught of anger and was surprised (and relieved) when he let out another guttural cry and dropped his head back down into the cradle of his arms. She dropped to her knees beside him and tentatively put her hand on his back. This only seemed to make him sob harder, but he didn't remove her hand or push her away. After a couple minutes, he lifted his head again and looked sideways at her. He didn't wipe at the snot running dangerously close to his red, wind burned-looking mouth, nor did he rub his tear stained cheeks or eyes. Hermione reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a white square of fabric, handing it to him. He took it, wiped his nose and crumpled the fabric in his fist. He looked raw.

An unspoken understanding passed between them then. _For right now, all bets were off. Just for now, the past has never happened and they were just two people. _"My father tortured my mother…to _death. _He fucking _killed _my _mother."_ His voice was raspy and broken and his expression pained and pleading. Hermione's face reflected his, eyebrows furrowed in sorrow, empathy etched into her warm amber eyes. _I'm so sorry_ she said with her eyes, unable to speak past the lump lodged in her throat.

Draco's jaw tensed as he searched her eyes for an answer she didn't have. Hermione watched his lips press into a hard line and his chin quiver as he tried to hold back. She shifted to sitting cross-legged, her knee nudging leg, and slowly began to move her hand in a circle on his back. The dam broke and he dropped his head again, cradling his face in the cup of his hands. She murmured quiet shhhh shhhh's to him and gently pulled him towards her. He followed and let his heavy, tense body fall against her, head in her lap, and lay curled on the forest floor shaking and weeping. Hermione smoothed her left hand through his soft hair, sweeping it away from his burning face and continued the circle on his back while she rocked.

Draco's mind was stuck in a loop, "He killed her. He killed her. He killed her." But, he was glad his father was dead, it saved him the trouble, though it did deprive him of the chance to inflict his rage on the man he once idolized. All he was left with was the emptiness and sorrow of having his mother taken from him forever. She was the only person in the world he loved, and more, the only person he'd ever felt really loved him. He'd feared his father, admired him when he was younger. He wanted to be like him. Strong, powerful, and master of his domain. But things changed when his father had been captured and sent to Azkaban. He thought he would be livid, or feel dishonored, but he felt free - for the first time in his life. It had been a startling revelation and he spent many hours in contemplation over it. He even braved writing to his mother about it. They shared a closeness that Lucius couldn't touch, not that he'd tried. His mother wrote him long letters and confessed that she too felt released. When she had married Lucius, she was young and she had been impressed by his commanding presence. He appealed to her aristocratic, well-bred, high-society upbringing, but when he aligned himself with the Dark Lord, he'd done so against her wishes, but there was nothing she could do. The Dark Mark was for life. As he gained favor in that shadowy world, he became consumed with the pursuit of power. Narcissa's once bright, fiery spirit gave way to fear and she retreated within herself. So she lived for her son and secretly prayed that she would find a way to save him from his father's plans. She doted on the young boy in his father's frequent absence, laughing and letting him know, in every way she could, that she loved him. She wanted to do more, to infuse her values in him, even if it was covertly, but her young dragon idolized his father and she feared Draco would - unknowingly - inform Lucius of her betrayal. She knew Lucius would be merciless in his punishment and all her efforts with Draco would be lost. All she could do was love him and make sure he knew it.

When Lucius was captured at the Ministry of Magic, her very soul seemed to sigh with relief. She began to let her true thoughts and feelings slip into her letters. Slowly at first, but after Draco wrote to her about his own doubts and confusion, she let it all out. She had always held Draco closely, but now their bond was cemented. Every ounce of suffering she had endured as the wife of a Death Eater had been worth it when Draco told her, in no uncertain terms, that he would never take the Mark.

Draco thought about the stack of letters from his mother, written on fine parchment and secreted in a beautiful walnut box in his trunk, and a fresh bout of anguish gripped him as he realized he'd never receive another one. He currently owned every precious letter that he ever would. And it wasn't enough.

Draco was inconsolable. His agony hung in air just above their heads like an invisible blanket punched with holes. He shook violently in her lap and lamented, "Oh God!" and "He killed her" and "Mum" and struggled to take deep gulping breaths. Hermione continued to run her fingers, over his smooth forehead and through his hair, raking his bangs away from his face and watching them fall into place once more. Always more at home in the world of intellect, she had never felt particularly maternal, but instinct took over and she knew exactly what to do. Her sense of disbelief – that she was sitting on the ground in the dark forest holding her nemesis in her lap and comforting him – was suspended for the time being, as she concentrated on soothing this human being's sorrow.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead and cooled the warm forest air. Hermione shifted slightly a few times so her legs wouldn't fall asleep, and wondered how long they'd been out there. It was two o'clock when she'd gone to Hagrid's earlier and now the sun had begun it's decent. Looking up through the canopy, Hermione guessed it was around five. Dinner would be in an hour. After the first hour or so, Draco's shoulders had softened and he'd quieted a bit. Every once in a while, a new wave of greif would over take him, she guessed, with a new memory. Looking down at him now, she could see that his face was returning to its alabaster hue and his cheeks were marked with long, dried streaks, though his eyelids were puffy and still red. His nose was bright red from being rubbed with the crumpled, wet cloth. His breathing had become deep and slow and she thought he might be sleeping. Hermione's stomach balled up at the strange sight of her own golden brown fingers running through his silky, light hair. She had never seen him this close up and it was a bit unnerving. Her mind began to run through a jumbled series of memories of him. His cruelty, his hateful sneer, his haughty posture, the taunts and jibes of a twelve year old, the way he managed to ignore her and still get their initial Head duties completed. And then there was his damning smirk. God, she hated that smirk. It made her insides twist. She had once, a very long time ago, caught herself thinking that smirk was sexy as hell even though it had been intended to make her feel beaten, and she had never forgiven herself for thinking it.

What would happen now? She was not naïve enough to think everything between them was going to be sunshine and roses now that Draco Malfoy had cried in her lap. And she certainly wasn't going to forget all the hate he'd thrown at her. He'd made her life hell for almost six years and, even if she was being nice to him for the moment, she had every intention of continuing to detest him. She sighed deeply and tried to prepare for the biting words he would probably spew at her the moment he regained his footing. His gargantuan ego would never allow him to be civil to her, especially now that she'd witnessed this naked emotion from him. She wondered if he had ever cried in his entire life. Well, maybe, she thought, when he didn't get his way, he probably cried like a spoiled child. Which he was. Or, rather, had been.

She let out another sigh and a low groan floated out with it. Draco stirred and sat up slowly, pushing up on one arm and looking away from her. He took a deep breath and pulled his knees up so he sat the way she had found him, but now looking off unseeingly in to the trees in front of him. She unfolded her legs and stretched them out on the itchy leaves and twigs, unsure what to say and wondering if his worst self would come out now to rescue his pride.

His worst self, however, was too exhausted to do anything. His pride was beaten into the ground and vaporized. As far as he could remember, it was the first time in his life he had ever broken down. And he hoped it never happened again. Not like that, especially. But, his thoughts were thick and muddled now as he tried to think of what to say, what to _think_ about the fact that fucking Granger! of all people, had seen him like that, and worse, that he'd let himself be enveloped in her, and comforted by her soft caresses. What would she want from him now? How would he keep her silent? God, if she fucking told Potter… Would she use this against him? Probably not. She may hate him as much as he hated her, but her impeccable morals would have her taking the high road. Thank God for small mercies. But, would she expect him to be _nice_ to her?

He groaned and broke the awkward silence that was filling in between them. He stood up and snuck a glance at her sitting on the ground before turning away from her to leave. Her robes were rumpled and there was a dark spot on her thigh. He flushed with shame at a trail of shiny dried snot stretched over a small area near the spot he'd obviously wet with his tears. Looking towards the castle, he said in a low rasp, "This doesn't change anything, Granger. We're not friends."

His hoarse voice sent a dull, slow ache through her. "I know." She said quietly with her face turned towards the ground. He took a step and hesitated, then continued back to the castle.

Hermione sat unmoving, listening to his retreating footfalls. She felt pretty certain that, in fact, it changed everything.


	2. Dear Granger,

Draco retreated to his room, thankful that the halls were empty since everyone was at dinner

Draco retreated to his room, thankful that the halls were empty since everyone was at dinner. He climbed wearily into his bed, fully clothed, and pressed his face against the cool pillow. He let the heaviness in his chest carry him quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

A somber tone infused the Great Hall at dinner that evening and Hermione was glad for it. Even Ron and Harry seemed a bit lost in their thoughts. Hermione followed suit. She wasn't surprised to not see Malfoy and she mentally noted that he'd probably not eaten all day. Moreover, she noted that she'd noticed this and had just thought about it. A little crease of concern appeared between her brows. She was emotionally exhausted and in turn, physically tired as well. She told Ron, Harry and Ginny that she was going to turn in early and finish her reading in bed. They simply nodded and bid her good night.

When Draco finally emerged from the sleep of the damned it was still dark out. A tray sat on his desk filled with food and kept warm with a heating charm. He was suddenly aware of how enormously starving he was and he thanked whatever deity had remembered him. He brought the tray to his bed and sat back against the headboard to devour last night's dinner. He couldn't think anymore about his mother, or his father. So his mind drifted to Granger.

Gods! How could he have let her see him like that? He should have cast a disillusionment charm at least. He felt humiliated and confused. He was amazed that she'd stayed with him for all those hours. The fucking bleeding heart! The last thing he wanted was pity from her. She should have left him there. Instead, she'd pulled him to her and allowed him to let go. Everything he'd ever been taught told him to threaten her into silence, but he didn't really think she'd tell anyone and he was too worn out right now to put up any effort. Sipping his pumpkin juice, he closed his eyes and re-experienced her in his mind.

He had been too upset to notice before, but now he remembered the feel of her hand softly drawing circles on his back and her fingers on his face and in his hair. He heard her shooshing sounds every so often, but he couldn't remember her saying much else. He had a vague idea of a scent that had surrounded him, but he couldn't pin point it. His nose was, after all, a never-ending snot factory. Then he remembered the handkerchief and his hand went to his pocket. Setting down his juice, his long fingers pulled out the wad of cloth. It was crusty and filthy. He grabbed his wand and cast a "scourgify" on it, then set down his wand to examine it more closely.

It was a fine white linen edged in delicate, intricate yellow crocheted lace. A small grouping of yellow and tangerine flowers was embroidered in one corner surrounding a spring green "H". Draco ran his thumb over the green threads and thought with surprise how utterly feminine the cloth was. It didn't seem fitting for the bossy, bookish, know-it-all Granger he knew. He decided instantly that he was not going to give it back. He leaned over and put the cloth in the drawer of his nightstand. Leaning back again, the words he'd said to her came to his mind.

He meant it - he wasn't about to start being nice to her, and from her reply she seemed to already know that. Maybe she had no desire to be nice to him either. But she _had_ been nice to him. When he really, really needed it. There was no way to out think it. Granger had done something generous for him and he at least owed her a thank you before he went back to hating her. Besides that, they had to work together and maintaining at least the appearance of civility was expected.

Pulling out fresh parchment and sitting at the small desk, Draco contemplated how to word the note.

"Dear Granger, …" _Dear? Um, no._

"Hermione, …" _Gah!_

"Granger, that was a really nice thing you did …" _No. Just no._

"What the fuck? …" _Sigh._

By the fifth try he'd chosen his words. He wrote them out carefully and rolled up the note quickly, sealing it with silver wax and the dragon stamp his mother had bought him after beating Ravenclaw in Quidditch last year, and he left it on the desk while he went to bathe.

The bathroom had to be just about the best thing about being Head Boy. Each house had a private room for when a student from that house held the position. In the case of Slytherin, the room was in the dungeon, but it was accessible from a corridor around the corner from the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. It opened into a small, but fairly opulent (by Hogwart's standards) sitting room with a soft leather couch flanked by a squashy leather chair on either side. A deep, low wooden table sat in front of a large marble fireplace. There was also a small desk, comfortable desk chair, and a bookcase at the back of the room. Off the sitting room were the entrances to the Slytherin Common Room, the bathroom and his bedroom. There was also an entrance to the bathroom from the bedroom. Ah, the bathroom. It was done in a creamy white marble and brushed silver with elegant lines and an almost Art Deco styling. The warm color of the marble and a hundred candles lined up on a high ledge kept it from being austere. If the bathroom was fantastic, the crown jewel was the sunken bath large enough to fit ten people. A waterfall cascaded from high on the far wall serving as a shower, and all he had to do to scent the water, add oil, bubbles, or even have a milk bath was tap his wand on edge and name the addition. To make the whole thing even better, he discovered that no matter what he tried, he never smelled like it afterwards. That could come in handy.

The evening before had drained Draco and he was left barely able to say "eucalyptus" before sinking into the steamy water. It felt like his insides were sleeping. His mind, his body, everything was on hiatus. Asleep. Numb. Quiet. It was as though he were walking in a deep vat of honey, struggling to move his limbs and thoughts through the thick liquid. He closed his eyes and sank below the surface, welcoming the watery silence.

On her way to breakfast Monday morning, Hermione stopped off at the Head Students' Common Room - the HCR. She shared this room with Malfoy, of course, by luckily she had only had to _actually_ share the space a couple times since the beginning of the year. They seemed marvelously good at avoiding one another. This morning was no different and the comfortable room was empty. A fire crackled in the hearth, indicating that he'd already been there. Hermione's shoulders sagged in relief that he wasn't there since she really didn't know what she'd say to him. They'd have to talk eventually, but she was hoping she could have at least a couple of days before that happened, and she really hoped they could just skip the part were she found him crying in dark forest. Without putting her bag down she headed to the large desk and hutch where all the cubbies were. Here, she and Malfoy could leave notes for their prefects to pick up at meetings, or messages for each other. Outside the portrait entrance there were two slots, one marked Hermione Granger, Head Girl and the other Draco Malfoy, Head Boy. Any student, prefect, or teacher could slip notes into the slots and they would end up in the intended's cubby. In her cubby was a small pile of parchments that she gathered up and took with her to the Great Hall.

Harry and Ron hadn't arrived yet – probably getting a late start as was typical on Mondays, so she sat down at the table in her usual spot and started filling her plate. While she tucked in to her breakfast, she sorted through the parchments. Most were requests from the prefects to change their scheduled patrols, some were tutoring requests from first and second years, and there was even a co-authored note from Lavender and Padma with ideas for more balls than you could shake a stick at (Hermione snickered at her stupid saying): an autumn harvest ball, a Halloween masque, another Yule ball, a St. Valentine's Day dance, a spring soiree, and finally the required graduation ball. Hermione rolled her eyes and tucked that parchment into the back of her organizer. The last parchment was small with a beautiful, intricate dragon emblem that writhed in the silver wax. She broke the seal and unrolled it.

_Thank you. _

_I owe you. _

_DM_

Her eyes darted over to the Slytherin table and found his looking back at her. His expression was closed and serious and they started at each other for a moment. She gave him a single small nod and the tiniest smile and he returned the gesture, without the smile, and they both dropped their eyes. Hermione slid the note off the table and quickly stuffed it into the pocket of her robe. She was just putting all the other parchments into her organizer when Ron and Harry grumped up to the table and sat down next to her with sleepy thuds.

"Where were you yesterday, 'Mione? I was looking for you all over the place. I needed help with my Potions essay. You know I can't do that stuff without you." Ron turned on his innocent puppy eyes for her and she rolled her eyes.

"Gee, Ronald, I'm so sorry I wasn't around to do your homework for you. How could I have been so negligent in my duties?" Hermione returned sarcastically with a lightly scolding smile.

"Yeah, yeah" he dismissed, "But, where were you? We looked everywhere for you."

"I stopped by to see Hagrid, I went to pick some puffpinks, I spent a little while in the library, and I took care of some planning in the HCR." She rambled through her list. It was easy enough to leave out some details. "_If_ you did look everywhere, then you must have kept missing me. Sorry."

Ron ignored her implication of his laziness by shrugging and heaping his plate with potatoes. Harry seemed to still be asleep – even with his eyes open. Not a morning person, her Harry.

Dean and Seamus sat down across from Ron and pulled him into some discourse on Quidditch that they'd clearly been debating on their way down. Hermione took the chance to look over at the spot where Draco always sat and finding his seat empty, did a quick scan on the Great Hall. In a corner nearer to the Head Table, Dumbledore was talking to Malfoy, who looked vaguely like he might bolt the first chance he got. A thought occurred to Hermione then, and she ran an investigative glance at the Slytherin table. Most of the 7th years were sitting together and talking amongst themselves. Pansy was laughing loudly at Goyle, who was gesturing wildly, causing all of them to snicker. Not one of them was paying Malfoy any attention and Hermione was more than a little surprised by it. If a psychopath had killed a Gryffindor's parents, they would be utterly drowned in support from their housemates. What a shitty house he belonged to. Hermione sneered disapprovingly at the Slytherin table and then looked back to Draco and Dumbledore only to find them both gone. "Humph!"


	3. I earned this position, damn it!

Tuesday and Wednesday flew by a lot like Monday had

Tuesday and Wednesday flew by a lot like Monday had. Uneventful. Hermione kept busy with school work, tried to catch any little issue with the prefects that came up before Malfoy could even find out about it, and did her best to plan the next prefects' meeting on her own. Not only was she avoiding him for her usual reasons – because he was an evil ass – but her sense of decency figured that even an evil ass could probably use a break after his parents had been killed. Besides, she hadn't been spending as much time with Harry and Ron this year, so she had a little extra time. She blamed it on her Head Girl duties, desire to actually study for her NEWTS, and, oh yes…their love lives, aka Ginny and Lavender, respectively. The latter of which, she could do without.

Dumbledore had told Draco Monday morning, that if he wanted to, he could take some time and go home to Malfoy Manor. Since he was seventeen and of age, he wouldn't need to be assigned a guardian, and Dumbledore had arranged with the Ministry and Gringotts for all the Malfoy holdings to be transferred to his name. Draco politely thanked him, and he was actually grateful, but he declined the offer to go to the Manor. He was dreading having to go there. An image of his mother in the conservatory, where liked to take her tea, flashed through his mind and made his stomach churn. That, combined with the physical evidence of the large manor that he was now responsible for, was too much. He didn't want to go there, he didn't want to talk about it, he just wanted to…distract himself. To make matters worse, his housemates were practically walking on eggshells around him and it annoyed him to no end. But then, at least they weren't trying to comfort him. A vision on Crabbe putting his fat arm around his shoulders gave Draco a bad taste in his mouth. He wished he had a really long essay to write so he could throw himself into it. Maybe there would be a disaster with the prefects that he could fix.

Thursday before lunch was Hermione and Draco's free period when they could meet and take care of any business they needed to, which was why Hermione headed to the HCR as soon as Ancient Runes let out. She was at least an hour early, so she pulled a small l wooden box out of her bag and took it over to one of the desks. Inside were 10 dried puffpinks that needed to be carefully dissected.

Draco couldn't remember the last person he had talked to all week - other than telling Pansy to leave him the fuck alone when she persistently tried to involve him in some inane prank she, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle had concocted. He didn't want to be around anyone, much less talk to them, and he'd stalked off to his room to drown himself in the bath – his sanctuary. He craved that watery stillness, staying below the surface as long as he could only to repeat the action and sink again. Everywhere he went the quietness followed him and he welcomed it, encouraged it even. Which is part of the reason that Hermione didn't hear him enter.

Shutting the portrait with a soft click, Draco was presented with Hermione's back topped with a large ball of puffy curls pulled up and piled on top of her head. Draco thought it looked like an animal had moved in. She was bent over the desk and clearly didn't hear him come in, which was fine with him. He was very glad that they'd not had to talk about anything all week. And today, he didn't have the energy to fight with her. Trying to not alert her to his presence, he stealthily made his way to the cubbies and slowly pulled out his mail. Checking that she still didn't know he was there, he went to sit in one of the large leather chairs facing the two desks. He read through the few notes left for him. Justin Finch-Fletchly wanted to talk to him about scheduling Quidditch practices, and there were three first-years who were requesting tutoring. Two in Potions and one in Charms. He noted how very little mail he had this week – a quarter of what he'd had in the few weeks before. He scowled. He needed this damn it.

Draco looked up at the profile of Hermione working small metal tools on a pile of pink flowers of some kind. Her brow was creased and she bit half of her lower lip. The giant mop plopped on the top of her head made her slender neck look tiny. He guessed she was, after all, a very small person. 5'? Maybe 5'1"? At 6'2" himself, most girls, and plenty boys, seemed small, but in his mind, Hermione was anything but. Her over-confident, determined, know-it-all attitude added a metaphorical foot to her height. He smiled inwardly thinking that with her short height and delicate bone structure, she could probably pass for a little girl. Ah, but then, no. Somewhere in the last year, she had grown into herself. Oh, lord! He did not want to go there! Draco closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the chair. He ran though a list of homework assignments and projects, checking each one off mentally and lamenting his lack of distractions. Quidditch wouldn't start for another 2 months, and apparently being Head Boy didn't take much work. A soft humming started mingling with the checklists and potential projects and soon, the gentle noise was overriding the flurry of to-dos. Eyes still closed, an amused smirk formed on his face at Granger's little song. It was a love song and an especially cheesy one at that. Draco let the feminine sounds lull him into a light nap.

A soft snore startled Hermione and she sat up in her chair, whipping her head around. How had she missed Malfoy coming in? So much for Constant Vigilance. And he was snoring. Oh, god! Any other time, she knew this would be ripe material to shut his mouth with if needed. Too bad, but there will be other things. There always are.

She took a moment to watch him sleeping. Twice in one week, how…weird. His posture was easy and relaxed, revealing how comfortable he was in his own skin. But then, who wouldn't be if they looked like him? Even if he was an utter prat, he _was_ bloody beautiful! Really, no boy should be that pretty. There was almost something perverse about it. Smooth, pale perfect skin, silky white blonde hair, and dark pink, bowed lips that blatantly suggested sex, and piercing, arctic grey eyes set in long dark lashes. She would never tell a living soul, but she really liked his nose. Hermione was not one to get caught up in looks, or boys for that matter, (okay, okay, there was that crush on Lockhart, but come on, she was twelve!) but there was no denying how really gorgeous he was. In a dark, hidden part of herself, she hated him for it. Lucky for her, she rarely had to face his beauty head-on, because that hateful sneer she suspected he kept just for her, seemed permanently plastered on his face whenever he looked at her.

She turned back around and did her best to scrape her chair on the floor loud enough to wake him when she stood up. Success! Draco lifted his head and opened his eyes groggily at the scuffing sound. He stifled a small yawn and looked at her, biting the inside of his cheek.

Hermione decided the best plan was to pretend nothing had happened and get down to business. "I've made an outline of things we need to go over at tomorrow's meeting. If you want, you can look it over and add or rearrange as needed." She said without preamble handing him her notes. He took them, shifted in the chair and threw a long leg over one arm, and scanned her outline. On the whole, it looked good, but he was so desperate to fill his time that his mind searched hard for things to add.

"We should touch on Quidditch schedules since 3 of the 4 captains are prefects. We can invite Potter for that part of the meeting. And we've got to set up a system so these guys can handle the tutoring requests themselves. I got three, do you have any?" he queried.

Hermione was a little surprised at how eager he appeared and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and to just go with it. "I have a bunch. And you should see the note I got from Padma and Lavender about various balls. We'll all have broken ankles from dancing so much if they have their way." She said as she searched for the note in her organizer.

"Well, maybe those of you who dance like hippogriffs will suffer that fate, but some of us can actually put one foot in front of the other without causing bodily harm." He snarked.

Ahhh, there is the Draco Malfoy she knew. She narrowed her eyes at him and ignored the barb as she handed him the note.

He scanned the note and a tiny fire sparked in his grey eyes. "We have to plan the graduation one, obviously, but I think the Halloween Masque and the Yule Ball would be good too." Hermione goggled at him. A guy wanting to plan dances? _Malfoy_ wanting to plan dances? What?

"Er…okay. I guess. We'll bring it up the meeting and see if we can't get a group to set it all up."

"No. Those idiots can barely manage to not get lost patrolling the halls, and we've even made them maps of their routes. I don't want to be responsible for someone else's ineptitude. We can set it up, or, if it's too much for you to handle, I can deal with it myself."

"Malfoy…"

"What's the matter Granger? You might not be able to get a date to go with you, but at least you'll have gotten to see all decorations before hand."

Hermione glared at him and clenched her jaw. "Fine. I'll let the professors know." She bit out in a low voice through her teeth. She was not going to rise to his taunts today!

"What about the patrols?" He moved on.

Hermione's anger swept out of her to be replaced by embarrassment. She hoped he didn't mind that she had already completed the schedules and routes. Dropping her gaze from his, she pulled the schedule from the back pocket of her organizer and all the other notes she'd picked up this morning came out too, scattering to the floor around their feet. Draco rolled his eyes, but didn't make any remarks, as he leaned forward to help her pick up his the dropped notes.

"I, um…I adjusted the schedule to meet these requests," she waved at the fallen notes, "and I mapped out a couple new routes so the seventh floor corridor and the Greenhouse get better coverage." Draco picked up the last of the change requests at his feet and scowled at the healthy stack in his hand.

"What the fuck!" he suddenly yelled and stood up shaking the stack. "These are all from this fucking week! Does everyone think I can't handle this? Fuck!" Hermione just stared at him. "I'm not a fucking imbecile, you know. I fucking earned this position and I don't need people walking on eggshells around me! And I sure as FUCK don't need YOU doing my work for me! I'm not one of your dunce pity cases, Granger!"

Hermione stood up abruptly and walked to the cubbies, pulling out a folio of parchments and handing it to Draco. In an all-business manner she said flatly, "These are all the current tutoring requests, along with the profiles of about half of the potential tutors. We need to complete the profiles of everyone who signed up so that we can match people up. We need a list of all the professors' office hours and to secure dedicated space in the library where people can meet."

Her unaffected, efficient tone dispelled Draco's indignation immediately and he stood there goggling at her for a moment before he quickly adopted her attitude and opened the folio. "We'll need to recruit more tutors. Most of these are in their OWLS or NEWTS years and will probably need tutors themselves."

"I'll add it to the meeting notes. The prefects can help with the recruiting." She finished.

Another hour later and they had a revised meeting outline and had four new folios started: two for the balls, one for graduation and the graduation ball, and one for the new tutoring program they were developing. Stomachs grumbling, they packed up their belongings and walked out the portrait door to go to lunch. A weird moment where they looked everywhere but at each other passed between them upon realizing they were going to the same place. They both took a couple awkward halting steps not knowing how to both proceed but not walk together. Draco looked up at the ceiling and let out a small chuckle. Hermione met his eyes with a strained, but amused expression. They walked to the Great Hall side by side in silence and when they got to the main door, Draco held it open for her.


	4. I'm not going to bite you

Tuesday and Wednesday flew by a lot like Monday had

Draco threw himself into work with single-minded determination. He was like a speeding bullet hurtling through Hogwarts. By the middle of the first week, he had met with professors asking who their top students were, what topics each year struggled with, and noting the hours they themselves could commit to helping students. By the end of the week, he'd delegated recruitment tasks to the house prefects and got them started. He would have done the recruiting himself, but he doubted he'd receive a warm reception from the other three houses, with the exception, perhaps, of the simpering girls who fawned over him. And they weren't usually the sort you sought out for their brains. By the end of the second week, he had written a questionnaire to help profile the tutors, begun a cross-referenced cataloging system that took over the wood filing cabinet next to the cubbies, and started writing a pamphlet of guidelines and helpful tips for new tutors.

For the most part, Hermione was astounded at his unstoppable drive. She knew he kept up just as well with his regular coursework because he'd taken to camping out at one of the desks in the HRC and, though she was loathe to think about it, he'd actually outscored her by two points on their last Potions exam and tied with her on their last Arithmancy exam. But, she couldn't deny that she understood him all too well. The harder he worked, the less time he had to dwell on his loss. She supposed she would probably react the same way.

At first she'd been greatly annoyed that he started using their common room. He had previously only come to meet with her, the prefects, or to pick up his messages. Then, one evening he used one of the desks to complete an essay. Hermione scowled to herself the whole time and when he left a small stack of books and an inkbottle on the desk that night Hermione resisted the urge to knock them onto the floor.

After the fourth night of trying to ignore the scratching of his quill, she gave up the fight. It _was_ his room too and it wasn't all that difficult to ignore him. And he didn't seem to have any problem ignoring her either. One evening, a few weeks after he "moved in", he dropped a small booklet on her desk while she was bent over an Arithmancy problem. She had grown so used to him that she completely forgot he was there and she leapt up so fast at the sudden sound that she banged her knee on the edge of her desk hard enough to cause a small gash and making her let out a small howl of pain.

"Shit, Granger, I'm not going to bite you!" he said affronted and taking a step back.

She rolled her eyes and sat back down to examine her knee. "I was just startled!" she clarified in an annoyed tone. There was blood streaming out of a small cut and running down her leg, staining the cuff of her knee-high socks. She grimaced. Draco turned quickly and walked away. She slapped her hand on the cut and pressed down in an attempt to stem the flow of blood, wincing at the pressure on the purpling around the gash. It wasn't that bad of a cut, but apparently knees bleed a lot. Draco returned a moment later carrying a wet washcloth and he knelt down on one knee in front of her. To say Hermione was shocked was an understatement. She was so stunned, in fact, that she could do nothing but stare at him. With the first soft swipe of the warm cloth up her calf from the edge of her sock, Hermione's stomach flip-flopped and she bit her lip. He gently grasped her wrist, pulling it from her knee, and turned her palm up, capturing her fingers in the open washcloth. Hermione's breath became suddenly shallow and erratic as he pulled the cloth over each of her fingers and made slow, thorough passes at her blood-covered palm. He placed her hand in her lap and went back to her knee. Draco refolded the now pink washcloth and made soft upward passes on and around her knee, being extra gentle around the purple and sickly yellow bruise surrounding the opening. When all the blood, save for that soaked into her sock, was gone, he blew softly on the cut. Hermione gasped audibly and Draco froze. He got up quickly without looking at her and walked into the bathroom. Hermione stared down dumbly at her sock, pushed down a little on her calf, with wide eyes, feeling shaken and off-kilter, and her heart inexplicably thumping in her chest. She was only vaguely aware of Draco packing his bag and saying something about tutoring guidelines as he reached the door. She nodded absently.

Draco's long stride took him quickly to his room where he carelessly dumped his bag and walked straight into the bathroom. The candles came to life at once casting the room in a warm glow. Using his wand, he started the water filling and spoke, "Lavender." Draco felt mildly hysterical as he hurriedly toed off his shoes kicking them into the corner and pulled his tie roughly over his head. Moments later, his clothes lay in a messy heap on the floor and he was stepping down into the bath. Taking a deep breath, he felt his heart rate slow almost instantly.

_What the fucking hell what that? _

Draco closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the edge of the bath. An unbidden image of Granger's knee danced behind his eyelids. He groaned and suddenly the image was replaced with a moving scene of his own long pale fingers wrapping around her tiny tanned wrist, of her small fingers being sheathed in the washcloth in his hand, and finally of her palm open turned up in surrender to him. His heart gave a low thud. His chest felt constricted… and lower. There was no use fighting it so he gave in easily. His cock was waiting, hard and swaying gently in the hot water, and he let his hand wrap around it. In the back of his mind – the very small part that was capable of rational thought at the moment – he couldn't believe he was going to wank over Granger's knee and dirty fingers. He wasn't a fucking nervous virgin who got hard if the wind blew his trousers a certain way. And she was….Granger! The most insufferable, holier-than-thou, know-it-all, frizzy-headed, freckle-nosed, completely-not-sexy-in-any-way girl that he knew. And my _God!_ his cock was hard as iron. There was nothing to do but go with it. He let the images take over as he slowly stroked his hard cock in the warm water, the lavender oil making it slick in his palm. The washcloth was white and there was no blood, only her golden brown thighs. He was slowly rubbing the cloth in small circles over her knee and then up on the top and inside of her thigh, leaving wet trails glistening on her skin. The washcloth disappeared beneath her skirt and, even in the fantasy, he was coaxing her, convincing her. Her legs parted a little when he reached the top of her thigh and he traced the outline of her white cotton knickers with the wet cloth soaking the fabric and making it translucent. She opened more to him and he pressed the cloth over her sex, watching the thin cotton saturate and cling to her folds, defining her pussy lips. He wondered what sound the prissy Gryffindor would make when he pulled the fabric up, capturing her lips tightly in the soaked cloth, biting into her delicate skin, inflaming her clit. Draco smirked to himself as his grip tightened. He bet that if he wanted to, he could make her scream a kalidescope of noises she didn't know she was capable of. _If_ he wanted to.

Draco was a good lover. He knew it and he prided himself on it. Of the hundreds of things he was boastful of, though, he chose to keep this one to himself. He considered it an ace up his sleeve. A secret weapon only to be used when it pleased him to do so.

It wasn't just about fucking. Anyone can fuck. Shit, monkeys fucked, cockroaches fucked! But he understood that each body needed to be touched in it's own unique way, in it's own order, at it's own pace. So his "skills" were more of a manifestation of keen powers of observation and an active imagination, which he had in spades.

Don't get the wrong idea, he wasn't born with it, or anything. He'd fumbled as much as the next guy in the beginning. But, his senses had been refined by his surroundings and he was always watching closely for the affect he was having on others. (It was this same trait that made him so good at taunting Granger.) He understood how language, touch, sound and smell could combine to create a mood, a separate world, and he used that knowledge to his advantage. And he'd come to realize - the secret , the most important thing– that made all the difference in the world, was that it started in the mind. Desire. Control. Anticipation…

He also knew that the mind was an imperfect and tricky thing, and sometimes the lines might get a little crossed, and for that reason he wasn't terribly concerned that he was hard over something so mundane as a knee or even over a Gryffindor. But the fact that it was Hermione Granger was a thorn in his side that he was dutifully ignoring.

Draco's fantasy quickly evolved to series of disconnected imagined sights and sensations as his face and neck flushed and his hand picked up speed. Running his palm strategically over the tip and down to the base with a twist, being sure to hit that super sensitive spot just below the head, he let the images come. Her legs spread and tied to legs of the chair, his fingers playing her clit through her soaked knickers, his tongue shoved into her hot, wet pussy lips, grabbing her by the wrist as he had done and wrapping her small fingers around his hard cock, her orgasm pulsing around him as he drove into her hard, her riot of curls bouncing on his pillow and her amber eyes half closed… His body tensed and his head came forward off the edge of the bath. With a long, heavy grunt he came in the hot water.


	5. Get your own mudblood!

The Tutoring Program Guidelines was an impressive piece of work

The Tutoring Program Guidelines was an impressive piece of work. Malfoy had designed an entire system that, once put into motion, would run like a well-oiled machine and could be continued for years to come. Even though she had made quite an effort, Hermione couldn't find a single thing to change or add. She had to concede; Malfoy had done an excellent job. It wasn't too surprising, really. Despite his petulant attitude and derisive comments, she knew Draco was exceptionally smart. Ironically, his insults were one of the ways she'd come to that conclusion. He certainly wasn't the only person at Hogwarts that had less than friendly feelings towards her. There was practically an entire house that liked to glare at her every chance they got. But she found that most other people's verbal attacks were rather pathetic, and well… boring. Draco Malfoy, however, was anything but boring, and their sparring matches of the past, though excruciatingly painful, kept her on her toes. So, yes, he apparently had some activity happening between his ears. She would even go far as to admit that, academically speaking anyway, she thought of him as her only true competitor. Not that she would ever tell that to another living soul.

She scribbled a quick note and stuck it inside the cover and shoved the booklet into her school bag. On her way to breakfast, she made her usual stop in the HCR to pick up her messages. Just before she turned to walk out, she sensed that something was off in the room, though she hadn't noticed it when she walked in. She surveyed the scene like a detective, checking off the features as she looked them over. The two windows were closed, but the curtains open, letting in the clear autumn light, her desk had a small stack of books she'd checked out from the library, Malfoy's desk had been cleared of everything except a crystal ink bottle and pristine green iridescent quill laying on it's side, the bookcase that she had half-filled with her books was… completely full. Her eyes opened wide in astonishment. In the beginning, she resented that he'd started using the room as much as she did, but now she was used to it and the full bookcase caused a strange bubble well up inside her and twist. Malfoy had officially moved in.

Warily, she walked up to the case and ran her finger along the titles he'd added. She was mildly surprised to find some duplicates of her own collection; a well-thumbed _Hogwarts, A History_ being one, but she stood open-mouthed at his collection of muggle books with worn spines mixed in with the wizarding ones: Garcia-Marquez, William Blake, Vonnegut, Tolstoy, Thoreau, Cooper, Tennyson, Whitman. There were even some muggle history books, philosophy, two science books next to the Potions books, and couple authors she didn't recognize: Nin, Benton. The volume of Thoreau made her quirk an eyebrow. Living simply on meager resources was about as opposite as one could get from the Malfoy way of life.

With that little nugget to keep her mind spinning for a while, she turned to leave and stopped short as she noticed something else. There, on the mantle above the fireplace was a small vase filled with jasmine. Trying to process _that,_ while still spinning over the muggle books, was something akin to running repeatedly against an invisible force field, rebounding and running at it again. She grabbed her bag and made a hasty exit.

It was a shell-shocked looking Hermione that sat down next to Ginny as the redhead was filling her juice.

"Morning 'Mione." Ginny said cheerfully.

"Morning." Hermione replied. Ginny frowned.

"We've hardly seen you for ages. Malfoy hasn't been making you cover his duties too, has he?" She joked.

The mention of the subject already on her mind, brought her out of her daze. "No, Ginny. It's been fine. He's actually been doing a lot of work, if you can believe that!" she snorted as though she herself couldn't believe it. Which she couldn't.

Ginny shot her a doubtful look, but didn't say anything. Hermione shook her head, explaining, "I know…but you should see the Tutoring Program that he developed, pretty much single-handedly. We're presenting it next week and it should be up and running by the end of the month. It's really quite good."

A strange look passed over Ginny's face, but it was gone a moment later. "So, where have you been then?"

"Just trying to keep the prefects in order, I swear some of them need babysitters! Studying for NEWTS, and I need to check up on Padma and Lavender's plans for the Halloween Masque."

A wide, shy grin suddenly swept over Ginny's face and her cheeks turned pink. Hermione chuckled, feeling like she might know the cause.

"Yes?" she asked with a knowing smile.

"Harry asked me last night." She replied quietly.

"Oooh Gin! I'm so happy for you!" Hermione squealed throwing her arms around the blushing girl. And she _was _happy for her. And for Harry. Ginny's crush on her best friend was almost epic and Hermione had tried to council a young, lovesick Ginny as to how to handle her embarrassing feelings. Ginny put her crush on hold, dated other boys, and slowly she and Harry became friends. Hermione suspected that spending so much time together on the Quidditch pitch had been instrumental in growing Harry's affections. Ginny was a rocket on a broom and even her tongue-tied bashfulness around Harry all but disappeared on the pitch. She was a lively firecracker who could out-fly, out-maneuver, and out-back talk almost everyone on the team. Harry really had no choice but to fall for her.

"Oh, 'Mione, you're coming to Hogsmeade with us this Saturday, right? We're going to a new shop that opened for out costumes, and you just have to come!"

As she was about to reply, a bouncy Lavender Brown and a sheepish looking Ron sat down across from the two girls. "Oh, Hermione, you're going to love Coscoutre! It has EVERYTHING! I think I want to go as a bird. God, I can't wait! Ron's going as a panther."

Hermione really wanted to point out that cats eat birds, but for the sake of her other best friend she held back. She was glad for Ron, even if Lavender sometimes grated on her nerves. Ron seemed truly happy and comfortable, for once. There had always been an unspoken expectation that eventually he and Hermione would end up together, but as they got older, his nervousness around her prompted a tendency to say stupid things that resulted in one too many heated arguments. It was obvious now that they weren't a good match, but in Hermione's mind, it was hard to undo the years of expectation.

"...and after that we're going to go The Three Broomsticks for lunch. And then, we're going to walk around a bit." Lavender finished just as Harry sat down, looking sleepy and disheveled.

His greeting was little more than a mumbled "Hey" and he immediately started filling his plate. Hermione sighed at her still empty plate and followed his lead. Spending a whole day with two happy couples was not exactly high on her list, but it had been a really long time since she'd spent any real time with them and she did need a costume. Even if no one asked her, which was likely, as Head Girl, she still had to go. _I'll go to the stupid dance and I'll have a great time and who cares about any of it anyway! _She lifted her chin and bit into her toast.

The Golden Trio had apparently become a quintet and Draco eyed the group walking ahead of him on the path to Hogsmeade with a mask of indifference. It was a blustery day and the chilly wind couldn't make up its mind which direction to blow so it just kept whipping around on it's self frantically. Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle were talking animatedly and Draco was doing a good job of tuning them out, which none of them seemed to mind. After the incident with "The Knee", as he called it, he decided that he needed to spend more time in the company of his old companions, so he joined the Slytherin table the next morning and opened the day with a steady stream of insults and snarky comments, mostly centering on the much loved topic of Weasleys. The Slytherins didn't skip a beat at his reemergence from solitude and joined in the berating instantly.

Draco pushed his hair out of his eyes only to have it reappear a moment later. Up ahead of him, it seemed that Granger was having was a similar problem and every ten seconds or so, she'd toss the long mass of curly hair over her shoulder. After an agitated couple of minutes of watching the curls swirling back and forth over her shoulder, Draco decided that he absolutely hated those curls and wished he could cast a Petrificus Pilarus so the damn things would stay put. The Boy Wonder's hair, however, looked like it was born in this weather. Since his father's incarceration, Draco had spent a good deal of time thinking about Harry Potter. Draco was one of the few people that knew what Potter was up against and what he had to do. While Draco hated Potter vehemently for…well, there were a million reasons, in a tiny crevice somewhere inside him, he really hoped Potter would win and kill Voldemort.

Once in Hogsmeade, the five Gryffindors darted down a side street while the Slytherins kept on, Quality Quidditch Supplies first on their stop. Draco bought twelve broomstick-servicing kits for his team hoping to start the season off right, and arranged for them to be delivered. Goyle and Crabbe both purchased some polish and Blaise flipped through _Which Broomstick,_ while Pansy tapped her foot impatiently.

Lavender hurried excitedly passed Hermione with her arms overloaded with costumes. She and Ginny were camped out at the back of the sleek new store, trying on all manner of dresses and costumes. Ron and Harry had managed to make their choices quickly and ducked out to visit Zonko's where they would all meet when the girls were done. There went her intention to spend the day with her best friends. Hermione fingered a low-cut scarlet beaded dress with a wistful look. A red and silver feathered half mask hung by its ribbon the hanger.

"You would ruin that dress Granger. What a shame that would be as it's such a lovely costume. Surely they have a potato sack somewhere in here that would be more fitting for you. It might even come covered in _mud_ and you'll feel right at home." An acidic voice snarled over her shoulder into her ear.

Hermione whipped around to find Blaise Zabini and his merry band of miscreants standing behind her sneering at her and laughing at Blaise. Hermione resisted the urge to check the location of Ginny and Lavender and stared right into the cold glittering eyes of Blaise. Taking a page from Draco's book, she adopted her best bored look and brought her hand up to stifle a small yawn keeping her gaze firmly on his. She lazily put her hand on her hip, cocked her head and raised a brow, as if to say _Are you done yet?_ without saying anything at all.

Draco thought it best to stand back and let this unfold without him. As Head Boy he didn't really have the leeway to torment the Head Girl and with the events of the last few months, he didn't really have the drive to. Blaise, however, seemed more than willing to pick up the pursuit, and he snarled with indignation at her, "You uppity little swot! Why bother wearing a costume at all, that rat's nest will give you away instantly. And besides, no one wants to hang out with a shriveled up prude. Even your little boy toys have finally managed to pitch you. Maybe you should have spread your legs for them sooner and they'd still be here to pity you."

In his well-practiced posture of indifference, Draco stood at the back of the group listening to Blaise lay it on. While he didn't think Blaise's quips were brilliant by any means, the particular brand of vehemence in the boys voice was familiar. It was _his_ voice, the one he used for the Gryffindor Super Stars, and especially for Granger. An unexpected feeling of possessiveness set up house in his gut. Draco wasn't really sure he liked Blaise taking over his job of tormenting Granger. After all the years of relentlessly attacking her parentage, her appearance, her insufferable know-it-all personality and her pathetic bleeding heart, Draco kind of felt like he'd staked some kind of claim on her. Zabini could go find his own mudblood to pick on, Granger was _his!_

A lazy drawl from the back of the group interrupted Hermione's retort, "Can we get on with it, spending even more time with Granger is not on my to-do list today." Hermione narrowed her eyes at him momentarily, then turned back to Zabini with a unnaturally bright smile on her face.

"If you keep it up Blaise, I might think you like me. You know what they say about little boys trying to win a girl's heart. But don't worry, you have a _special_ place in mine." She gave him a saucy wink, turned on her heel and walked to the back of the store where Ginny was just wiggling out of a green and blue sequined dress.

Draco had to stifle his laugh. He felt bizarrely proud of her and turned away from a gob smacked Pansy and Blaise to hide his twitching lips and the amusement dancing in his eyes. _Good girl, Granger!_

Hermione's heart was returning to its natural rhythm as she sat on a bench in the back of the store while Ginny and Lavender debated over their top choices. This was so not Hermione's thing! And she was thinking exactly that when a glimmer of silver caught her eye. She walked over to the rack closest to the far wall and flipped her way to the fourth dress on the rack. Hermione smiled and was filled with a defiant happiness. She'd found it and it was perfect! Before the girls came out, she hurried to the register, paid for the costume and arranged for delivery. She didn't even care that she was going alone.


	6. Would you like a hot poker with that?

"I don't know how you can stand being around that smart-ass, mudblood bitch

"I don't know how you can stand being around that smart-ass, mudblood bitch! I think I'd rather have my eyes cut out than have to look at her all the time!"

Three days after Granger's dismissal of the dark Slytherin had done nothing to assuage his anger. For the last thirty minutes Draco had listened to Zabini's incessant whining about her, not to mention the group Granger-bashing that had taken place at just about every meal among his old comrades. Draco tried to remember if in the past he'd been as unrelenting about it, about her, as Zabini was being now. He appeased his ego with the thought that at least he included her boy toys in his rants. He also kept things in balance by frequently complaining about Gryffindors in general, the very existence of Hufflepuffs, and more than a few boring Ravenclaws. At least he was well-rounded.

Zabini, though, really had it in for Granger and had no qualms telling him about it. It was true that Draco had hated her, but Zabini's hatred bordered on something maniacal. It unnerved Draco.

Currently, the two tall boys were walking along the corridor that housed the HCR, one talking animatedly with a fierce scowl and the other looking bored. Draco let Blaise carry on, letting Zabini interpret his silence however he wished. He'd tried changing the subject a number of times only to have Zabini bring the conversation around to Granger and her unworthiness once again. Finally, he told Zabini to come with him so he could pick up his mail from the HCR, hoping to at least get something productive done while he was bombarded with a list of Granger's faults. A list he was pretty sure that he had authored himself.

Breakfast on Tuesday morning was a rowdy affair at the Gryffindor table with excited chattering about the upcoming dance and the start of the Quidditch season. Hermione frowned as she tried to shove her organizer back into her bag only to have it keep meeting some resistance. Her brain finally woke up and she hauled the bag up onto her lap to locate the offender. She pulled out two broken quills, a now-battered roll of parchment, and her books for her second two classes. With a sudden realization that she'd left her Arithmancy book in the HRC, she forgot about the traffic jam, shoved everything back in her bag (a little more neatly this time) and told a distracted Ron and Harry that she'd see them later in Potions.

With only fifteen minutes to grab her book and make it to class, Hermione hurried along the corridor. As she neared the portrait entrance, she saw that it had been left ajar and she could hear a muffled voice inside. Her curiosity peaked since neither she nor Malfoy usually brought people back to the room and the prefects only came in for their weekly meeting. Maybe Draco was counseling a prefect that was upset about something. The voice certainly sounded upset.

"You know what I'd like to do to that little cunt?" Annoyed, Draco cringed at Zabini's crudeness.

"Pray tell" he replied with no hint of interest and healthy dose of sarcasm.

"I'd like to take the Gryffindor Princess off her fucking pedestal. It's about time someone showed her what she's made for. I'd wipe the fucking shine off her pristine fucking face. She's a goddamned prude and I'm so sick of the stick up her ass. She deserves to be fucked in the mud like a pig." Blaise spat.

"Fuck Zabini!" Draco was appalled. "I'm going to have Obliviate myself. Could we not talk about this anymore? I might have to stick hot pokers through my eyes to get the pictures of Granger naked and having sex out of my head."

Hermione quietly slipped through the open portrait so she wouldn't be intruding, but was met with not a prefect, but one of her newest least favorite Slytherins, no make that two of her least favorite Slytherins. Draco's and Zabini both had their backs to her while Draco was flipping through a book he'd just pulled off the shelf.

"I might have to stick hot pokers through my eyes to get the pictures of Granger naked and having sex out of my head."

She couldn't decide if she should be mortified that they were talking about her like _that,_ or if she should perform a decapitation spell on Malfoy. _What do I care what Malfoy thinks! He can rot in hell!_ she thought.

"I'd be happy to acquire some hot pokers for you, Malfoy. I'll even help you shove them in." She spat angrily at the backs of the two boys. By the time they'd whipped around, the portrait hole was slamming shut.

Draco bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fucking fantastic! Before Blaise could comment, he said, "I've got to get to Arithmancy. I'll see you at lunch, yeah?"

Blaise headed for the door. "Yeah. And Draco, mark my words, the head girl is going down!"

Draco rolled his eyes and when Zabini was gone, he tilted his head back and let out a loud sigh. He was exhausted and the day had hardly begun. He pulled the contents of his cubby out and stuffed into his bag. On his way out, he spied Granger's forgotten Arithmancy book, and picked it up since they had class together. This was going to be a great fucking day!

Arithmancy did not go at all the way Draco expected it to. On his way, he wondered exactly what Granger had overheard. As disgusting as it was, he half hoped that she'd heard what Zabini had said, although he'd truly wished he hadn't heard it himself. Zabini's madness over Granger had him a little worried. He'd known Zabini most of his life, but he wasn't really sure if Zabini would act on his threats or not. But, as Head Boy he had an obligation to look out for all students, even the Head Girl. If Granger had heard him, then maybe she would be on guard around him. But, since she had only responded to his own words, Malfoy thought it wasn't likely.

He walked up the aisle of the small classroom. Not many students took Arithmancy. It was considered "hard" which translated to "not worth my few brain cells" by most of the students. Draco had more than a few brain cells and secretly enjoyed the challenging class. As he slipped into the classroom, he prepared himself for an onslaught of death glares, cleverly concealed barbs, and shit, she might even just hex him outright. He took a deep breath and walked up to her desk. He dropped her book casually in front of her and hoped she'd take it as a peace offering. It was a bit much to ask, he knew, but he just didn't have the wherewithal to weather her temper today, especially after putting up with Zabini's temper all morning already.

But Draco didn't get hexed, or glared at, or anything. He got absolutely nothing. She didn't even breathe in his direction. He supposed he should be grateful for that at least. He'd have to say something later, but for now, he'd just sit down and forget about it.

Class didn't start for another five minutes and Draco took the stack of messages from his cubby out. In the middle of the small pile was his guidelines book, bringing The Knee Incident fresh to his mind, which oddly brought Blaise to his mind. He pushed the images away quickly and opened the booklet. Stuck inside the front cover was a small piece of parchment.

_This is really good. Nice work._

_- Hermione_

From the back of the class as small thud was heard as Draco's forehead collided with his desk.

_Fuck._


	7. You look like shit!

Draco stood heavily from his desk in HCR and walked to the darkened window

Draco stood heavily from his desk in HCR and walked to the darkened window. He checked his watch – 11:50 – and leaned against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He stared out at the black vacuum of space that was the lake. There was no moon visible and the grounds were thrown into dense shadow. His eyes scanned the path from the castle to the greenhouses, searching for signs of the Head Girl and Neville on their patrol, just as he had done two nights ago.

He was rankled by the whole situation. It was stupid. It was a misunderstanding, but he couldn't very well tell her that. It's not like he could say, "Oh, Granger, I didn't mean it. I was just trying to get Blaise to shut up. Trust me, I have no problem thinking of you naked." He imagined himself wagging his eyebrows at her like the muggle actor Groucho Marx and shook his head.

Draco shifted his weight and sighed, squinting into the darkness. He had not seen her in their common room since that Tuesday morning. In fact, outside of classes, the only place he'd seen her was the Great Hall during meals. He tried making eye contact with her, though he wasn't sure what he'd do if she actually looked at him. Which she didn't.

What she did do was leave him a note saying that they didn't need to meet on Thursday since everything was going smoothly. She informed him that she would be covering Millicent Bulstrode's patrol on Tuesday and Thursday evening since the girl was lying in the hospital wing recovering from Potions homework gone awry.

Draco shifted again and checked his watch. _Come on you guys. Where are you?_ He spoke aloud to himself. He couldn't quite pinpoint the reason, but the room felt weird without her in it. It wasn't empty, but rather it felt heavier. He felt a little like he was being watched, like there was an unseen presence in the room, hiding in the drapes maybe. He shrugged it off as paranoia.

Draco did a thorough search of the grounds while he waited for them to appear. He could barely make out the edge of the lake, the whomping willow in the distance and the entrance to Greenhouse1 and 3. He squinted hard, looking for any abnormal movement, any glint, anything that didn't belong, but it was an exceptionally dark night and he couldn't see anything. He felt on edge.

Since Granger had walked in on them Tuesday, Blaise hadn't said another word about her to Draco. He should have been glad for it, but for some reason it worried him more. Thursday morning found Blaise at the Slytherin table glaring hard at the oblivious girl. Draco watched a muscle twitch in Blaise's jaw and felt his stomach squirm. Then, as if he had known that Draco had been watching him, he turned to the blonde, gave him an evil grin and raised his glass of pumpkin juice in salutation. Draco hid his uneasiness and nodded back.

Finally! Draco saw two points of pale blue light gently lighting up the path and their smiling faces. First, relief washed over him, but then Draco scowled. Their happy faces made him feel stupid for being concerned. He continued to watch him make their way and scanned the area around them also. He knew Granger was a powerful witch, and she did have Longbottom with her, so it was unlikely that anything would happen, but he wasn't willing to risk it.

The pair made it to the first greenhouse and paused at the door. Granger was pointing to the other greenhouse and Neville nodding. _No, don't. Stay with her Longbottom. Don't be stupid Granger. Fuck!_ Neville walked away and Granger opened the large glass door.

As his fast stride took him to the main hall, Draco had to mentally talk himself out of panic. He knew he was being ridiculous. Blaise probably didn't even know she was patrolling, since it was supposed to be Bulstrode's route. But he couldn't help it. The gleam in Blaise's eye that morning had set him on edge and now he was just barely not running. He wanted to shake her for being so stupid!

Without his cloak, he could feel the breeze off the lake hit his face and seep though his shirt. When the greenhouses came into sight he tried to work out what he was going to do. He could see Granger's lumos glowing though the condensation covered windows and figured that if she could cast it, she was okay. But it went out.

Draco halted and listened hard. Nothing. He took off at a run. _Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! _He flung the door open and called her name loudly. Even in his bright lumos he couldn't see her. Panic set in and he ran through the narrow aisles, demanding that she answer him.

Draco rounded a corner and his stomach dropped. She was lying in the gravel, her wand at her side and a large black snake slithering off her thighs. As soon as the snake was clear of her, Draco pointed his wand and shouted, "Diffindo!" The severed snake twitched once and then stilled. He dropped to his knees, his heart hammering in his chest. He shook her shoulder. "Granger! Granger! Wake up!" Her eyes fluttered open for a second and her head rolled up.

"Draco…" she whispered then winced, pain clearly etched on her face. Her head flopped back to the side and her face relaxed.

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_ He didn't know what kind of snake it was and he didn't know any healing spells that would help anyway. A dark stain on her upper right thigh was seeping through her robe. He ripped his tie off so fast it left his neck burning. For a tenth of a second he considered the impropriety of lifting up the Head Girl's robes, but then he had the fabric shoved up to her waist. The blood was shiny on her pleated skirt and he hastily folded it up.

"Hang on Granger! You're going to be all right. Just….hang on!" He lifted her knee to slip his tie under her thigh and then let it drop back. He pulled the green and silver tie very tight around her upper thigh, ignoring that fact that he could see her underwear. She'd probably rather die of the snakebite then know he'd seen her knickers.

Draco shoved his arms under her neck and knees and hoisted her up to look into the wide eyes of Neville Longbottom.

"Malfoy! What..."

"Grab that snake – and the head – and bring it." He interrupted, indicating the severed snake and maneuvering himself and the unconscious girl around the stunned Gryffindor.

"NOW LONGBOTTOM!" he shouted from the door of the greenhouse.

Draco ran, aware that he was jostling her horribly and not sure that it mattered. Her crazy curls were flying around her face. He could hear Longbottom's footfalls a little way behind him. He looked down at her, barely illuminated in the dark. Her lips were pale and her breathing was shallow. "Come on, Granger! _Please!_ FUCK!" he pleaded with her, knowing she was unconscious. His legs burned with the speed he was trying to gain. This couldn't happen. This couldn't FUCKING happen! "Almost there, Granger!" he told her as he neared the front doors. He didn't know why he was talking to her. He used the hand under her knees to wrench the door open and groaned with the effort to keep her from slipping.

He had her head cradled snuggly against his shoulder. He felt her try to take a deep breath and she coughed weekly. He tightened his hold on her. "Shhhhhh" he whispered into her ear. "We're almost there. I've got you. I've got you." He was consumed by panic. It was his fault. He should have warned her. He knew it and he felt like the guilt was eating his skin off his body. His eyes were damp and he could barely breathe. At the sight of the infirmary door, he willed his aching legs to stretch farther.

He pulled the door open with such force that it slammed against the wall and Madame Pomfrey came running out of her office. Draco knocked into the bed closest to the stunned Mediwitch and dropped Hermione softly onto it. "Snake" was all he could get out between impossibly hard breaths. Madame Pomfrey leapt into action and a moment later, Neville burst in waving the snake parts and panting out as much explanation as he knew. Madame Pomfrey sent Neville to alert McGonagall and shooed Draco from the bed so she could draw the curtain around it. Draco stepped backwards and stared at the white curtain trying to catch his breath. For a moment his anger at being shut out flared, but the rush of blood that tried to go to his face made him dizzy. He needed to sit down before he passed out, so he let himself drop onto his ass right there on the floor. As his breathing slowed, he laid back on the cool stone floor, knees bent and just stared at the ceiling listening to the clip, clip, clip of heels coming toward him.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you alright?" McGonagall's usually curt voice was tinged with concern as she leaned over him.

"Yes Professor." He continued to lay there and waited for the inquisition. He had his suspicions, yes, but they were only that. And Blaise was one of his oldest friends. He may have gone off the deep end, but Draco needed to hear it from him first. He plucked at the shirt stuck to his wet torso.

"Minerva. Good, you're here."

"How is she Poppy?"

"Unconscious still, but she's going to be fine. I dare say Mr. Malfoy probably made it here in record time and thankfully, Mr. Longbottom brought in the creature so an antidote will be a snap." The younger woman replied calmly before turning to Draco as he shakily got to his feet.

"Mr. Malfoy, it's a very lucky thing you found her when you did. She's going to be just fine. You may go. I'd wager you could use a good night of sleep."

Draco nodded and walked back to the common room. He felt like he'd been hit with a jelly legs hex, and when he entered the dark room he threw himself heavily onto the sofa and stared at the cold fireplace.

Hermione groaned. The weak blue light of dawn was invading her dreams and forcing her to wake up. She got up earlier than most students, by nature, but this was ridiculous! It was a lost battle though and she reluctantly opened her eyes. To say that she was confused would be gross understatement. Taking in the hospital wing, her heart gave a soft thud of panic. She knew she'd been patrolling with Neville, she was checking Greenhouse 1 while he was in 3 and then a sharp pain in her leg. She had a fuzzy image of Malfoy kneeling over her that didn't seem to fit in, and now this, the infirmary.

She sat up and saw a few bottles on the table beside her. She was still in her school robes, but her shoes had been removed. Pulling back the thin white blanket, she examined her leg where she remembered the pain. She ran her fingers over the band of red skin that ran around her leg. On the inside of her upper right thigh, just below the red band, was a small square of gauze that she carefully peeled back. She made a face at the ugly purple bruise surrounding two distinct punctures. She removed the bandage since she wasn't bleeding and smoothed her skirt and robes back over her legs.

"Miss Granger. I'm glad to see you are awake. How are you feeling?" Professor Dumbledore's voice apparently was chipper no matter what time of day it was.

"I feel fine Professor. Professor…what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell us, Miss Granger. But, I can tell you that you were bit by a rather poisonous snake last night during your rounds. Do you recall seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Do we... _have_ snakes here? I mean, I just… I've never seen one here before."

He chuckled. Between Slytherin house, her best friend being a Parselmouth, and the basilisk that petrified her in her second year, he found her statement amusingly ironic. "Yes, Miss Granger, Hogwarts has been home to more than one snake." His meaning was not lost on the clever witch and she blushed lightly. He reached down and picked up the folded fabric resting on her shoes. Running his thumb over the silver and green stripes, he eyed it thoughtfully. "It's a good thing, Miss Granger, that some snakes can run as fast as they do." He handed her the folded fabric with a knowing, kind smile. "Madame Pomfrey has given her permission for you to go back to your dorm, if you'd like. I bet you could get in at least two more hours of sleep before breakfast."

"Thank you, Professor" she said quietly. He nodded and left her there to wonder.

Hermione fingered the Slytherin tie, wrinkled badly from being knotted tightly both around Draco's neck and around her thigh. She flushed imagining Malfoy tying it so high on her leg. What was he doing down there anyway? His cruel words flashed in her mind. She wryly wondered if she should return the tie with a pair of sharp sticks. Well, it would be funny, anyway. The comment had hurt her feelings more than she cared to let on, but she was grateful that, while he thought she was ugly, he didn't want to see her dead. That was _something,_ at least.

She slipped off the cot and stepped into her shoes, pocketing Malfoy's tie, and made her way to her room. Her path lead her past the HCR and she decided to stop in and get her books so she could go straight to breakfast and then classes after a morning nap.

Hermione had been staring at a sleeping Draco Malfoy for the last twenty minutes. He was lying on his stomach with his shoes still on and his left arm shoved under his head. He looked exhausted and uncharacteristically dirty. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and the sleeves rolled up. There were grey dirt patches at both of his elbows and along the side of his leg. This would be the third time she'd had the opportunity to catch him in such an unguarded state and it felt like she was intruding on his secrets. She wondered about his secrets…

She wanted to hate him, she really did. But she couldn't. She had simply grown too used to him. He hadn't called her a mudblood since just after his father had been captured in fifth year. Which isn't to say that he didn't continue to throw insults at her indiscriminately. But even those had slowed down drastically and had little bite. It had just gotten old. She figured that when she and Malfoy had been told midway through sixth year that they were up for Head Girl and Boy, they both privately decided to end the feud (as much as possible) and not jeopardize their chances. Even his altercations with her best friends were usually started by Ron. And then there was that thing were he saved her life. So, no, she really couldn't hate him.

She sighed. The gossip mill at Hogwarts ensured that Ron and Harry would know about her injury first thing. She really needed to get a bit more sleep before she was ready to face them. She stood up and looked again at Malfoy. He had a large smudge of dirt on his neck just above the mussed collar. His collar. She fingered the tie in her pocket as if it was helping her think. She turned quickly to the cubbies, scribbled out a note and left it in his box.

The soft smack of the closing portrait roused Draco and he lifted his head off his improvised pillow, blinking in the morning light streaming through the window. Pin pricks shot through his arm and, sitting up, he shook it out. He looked down at his clothes and rolled his eyes. He stood and stretched his achy body languorously. He gathered his books and the parchment still on his desk. On his way out he grabbed the lone note in his box.

_Malfoy,_

_You look like shit._

_- Hermione _

At the end of her name were two lines and a swoop made a happy face.

Draco smirked. _Cheeky wench!_


	8. Here we go

Draco shoved the note into his History of Magic book and made his way to his dorm

Draco shoved the note into his History of Magic book and made his way to his dorm. Or, more specifically, to his bath. Having been rather good at potions, Draco knew the properties of many herbs and decided that his strained leg muscles could benefit from some chamomile, and feeling especially indulgent this early morning, he stepped into hot water that had tiny white flowers floating on the surface. _Oh, if Crabbe and Goyle could see me now._ But Draco had no qualms about it. He was very secure with his sexuality, and at the moment he needed a little decadence.

It's an odd thing to save the life of someone you hate. It made Draco feel like he'd betrayed himself. He wasn't angry with himself for saving her. He was mad to find that he'd lied to himself. On every day prior, if he'd been asked, and even if he hadn't been, he'd tell you his life would be better with out Hermione Granger. But the truth had been revealed and the person most surprised by it was him. He didn't want her to die.

As he carefully recounted the evening, and the motivations for all his actions, he realized that when he left the common room, he didn't even think she was in danger of dying. He just didn't want her to get hurt. This thought came surging forward in his mind and he examined it.

He didn't want her to be hurt. Not physically, not mentally, and definitely not sexually.

A feeling, or maybe it was an idea, was very slowly revealing itself to him. There was a goodness to Granger, a kind of…purity, and while that wasn't news, the fact that Draco suddenly felt like he needed to protect that goodness, was. He suddenly felt like the world needed it, _he_ needed it. It made him a little squirmy.

And to compound the squirmy feelings, he remembered that if he had warned her in the first place, she and Longbottom would not have split up. He slapped his hand down on the water dejectedly and frowned. He made a pretty lousy guardian.

Hermione Granger had come close to death before. She had been petrified by a deadly basilisk, smashed by a whomping willow while chasing a murder, and cursed by a Death Eater at the Ministry of Magic. Almost dying from a stupid snakebite felt a little anti-climactic. She knew she should be more shaken up, but she just couldn't muster the feelings. She was a little confused that her nemesis had saved her – that was…odd. Mostly, though, she just worried about rumors run rampant.

Hermione went to the Gryffindor common room so she could walk to breakfast with her friends. She also hoped to keep the drama to a minimum by confining it to the cozy room. And she had been right about the gossip mill. Well, best to makes sure she set the story straight herself. She had a very good idea about the kinds of "evolutions" that story could make.

"Oh, MERLIN, Hermione!" Parvati exclaimed when she got to the bottom of the steps. "Is it true that Draco Malfoy saved your life?" The exotic girl looked like she might swoon. Hermione snorted.

"Good morning, Parvati. Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Do you remember it? Neville said he carried you all the way to the infirmary!"

Hermione sighed and answered, "I was unconscious. I got bit by…"

Just then a clatter for footsteps came from the boys dormitory stairs. Harry, Dean, Ron, and Colin came tumbling into the common room.

Ron and Harry both rushed to Hermione's side and took turns giving her bone crushing hugs.

"I'm okay, guys. Really. I'm fine."

She relayed the story to the small crowd that had gathered around her (leaving out the tie, of course), happy to have so many ears at one time. Having to retell it over and over again would test her patience. But, by the time they all left for breakfast, she was already well on her way to supreme aggravation. No one, not even her best friends, seemed to care at all that she had been bitten by a snake! They all wanted to know about Malfoy. What was he doing there? Why did he save her? What was it like to be carried by him? (That at least got glares from Harry and Ron also.) She didn't know the answer to any of those questions. Truthfully, she wanted to know about Malfoy too. But, riding next to her curiosity was a large knot of apprehension.

Draco had a less enthusiastic response from his housemates. Pansy and Blaise, in particular, seemed to be having a contest to see who could send the deadliest glare at him.

Finally, he rolled his eyes at them. "Oh grow up," he drawled in a lazy voice. "It's not like I could just let her die there. With our past, it would look suspicious, and I have no intention of going to Azkaban over _her._ Besides, if she dies I won't be able to pass off all the Head Student work onto her."

Blaise's shoulders slumped and he sighed, resigning himself to the truth of Draco's reasoning, but Pansy was still spitting fire. "Is that why you were out there in the first place, then? Protecting your worker elves?"

Draco smirked devilishly. He had been waiting for someone to ask why he was there. "Just checking up on the Gryffindorks. Making sure they don't do anything _naughty_ in the dark." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively, then added, "You know, rules are rules. Wouldn't want anyone to get expelled."

It appeared that Pansy was impressed enough with Draco's devious (albeit false) plan that she forgot about being mad that he wasn't standing over the unconscious mudblood laughing viscously.

Draco breathed an internal sigh of relief. To find out if Blaise had anything to do with Granger's accident, he had to keep him in his confidence. Draco just had to figure out the best approach. His cunning Slytherin mind could dance a jig around a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, and even most Ravenclaws, but Blaise a Slytherin too, and a fairly intelligent one at that. His methods would have to be well thought out.

"Mr. Zabini," the curt, dry voice of Professor McGonagall broke into Draco's thoughts, "Your detention for this evening will begin at 10pm sharp, just like last night. Please report to Mr. Filch's office again at that time."

"Yes, ma'am." Zabini answered dejectedly and then rolled his eyes when the old woman walked away.

"What the hell was that all about Zabini?" Draco asked.

Blaise rolled his eyes again, "McGonagall caught me with a bottle of Ogden's Finest I snatched off a fifth year Ravenclaw. I was up until one in the morning helping the smelly squib clean up a Myrtle Mess on the second floor. Bastard wouldn't let me use magic either."

Draco's eyes lit up with amusement as he chuckled at the frowning boy. "Well, I'm sure you and Argus had a grand time getting to know each other. Will you be bringing him as your date this evening? When the magic hour strikes you two can slip off into the night together." Goyle chuckled around his potato-filled mouth and Pansy giggled. Blaise, however, just glared at Draco.

"Well, I would have asked him, but he told me he was going with you."

Draco smirked and let him win this round. "Ah, touché, Zabini. Touché. See you suckers in class!" He finished as he stood up smirking. Well, that had been too easy. So, Zabini was serving detention last night…very interesting. Or, rather, it's not interesting at all. Is it possible that it was just coincidence? Draco replayed Zabini's comments in his mind as he walked to class.

"_I'd like to take the Gryffindor Princess off her fucking pedestal. It's about time someone showed her what she's made for. I'd wipe the fucking shine off her pristine fucking face. She's a goddamned prude and I'm so sick of the stick up her ass. She deserves to be fucked in the mud like a pig." _

Okay, so Zabini hadn't said anything about wanting to kill her, but why would he want to… no, that's ridiculous. Draco then remembered his little wank fantasy involving the Head Girl. Okay, so maybe not ridiculous, just…_really unlikely._

Spirits ran high throughout the day with so much jabber about the Halloween Masque that Hermione and Draco were both spared from too much attention. They were currently both reviewing their notes for the prefect meeting that was scheduled before dinner. Hermione had laid out most of the rules for the dance since Draco tended to be a little too lenient, and Draco had a small list of other "reminders" for the prefects.

They hadn't said anything more than hello to each other and a few remarks about the meeting before the prefects started filling in. The group huddled casually on the couch and chairs, with some students sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace while Hermione reminded them of their duties as "responsible students that needed to set the tone for others." Lavender shot a sly glance at Padma and snickered at this, making Hermione send her a scolding look. When she was done, Draco stood up and took her place in front of the group. Hermione sat down in the large squashy chair he had vacated, warmed with his body heat, and took a moment to consider the Head Boy.

Dumbledore made a good choice in Draco. He was respected (amazingly enough), thorough, and fair. And he was surprisingly good at assigning duties to the right prefects. Lavender, Hermione knew, wouldn't ever be assigned nighttime patrols of the greenhouses or the astronomy tower. And while Malfoy had put her on the team to set up decorations for the dance, she didn't have any responsibilities at the dance itself. But most surprising to Hermione was that he put her in charge any assignment dealing with the youngest students. Hermione and Malfoy actually had quite a heated argument over this (which Hermione sulked about losing) claiming that Lavender was too "flighty" to be trusted with eleven year olds. After that, Hermione kept a close eye on the tall Gryffindor girl, in hopes of proving Malfoy wrong, but it quickly became obvious that Draco was right and Hermione had to concede. Lavender's warm smiles and general affability made her a trusted favorite with the nervous first years.

Draco's posture suddenly shifted drawing Hermione out of her thoughts, "Last," Draco drawled, his tone both imperiously and warning, "it apparently wasn't made clear enough before," everyone seemed to sit up a little straighter. "that when patrolling you are put in pairs for a reason. And it isn't so you can split up and get the job done more quickly. Do not let me hear of this happening, or there will be consequences. I trust that I've made myself understood." Draco glanced at Neville and then turned and pointedly kept his eyes locked with Hermione's. She felt her face flush, but grit her teeth and held his gaze, knowing that the whole group was watching anxiously. He turned back to dismiss the group, and Hermione looked away into the fire with her arms crossed protectively over her chest.

As the prefects gathered their patrol schedules and notes from their cubbies, Draco busied himself with his belongings and watched out of the corner of his eye as Hermione quickly packed her bag and left the common room without saying goodbye to anyone. He scowled and slung his bag over his shoulder.

Hermione ran her fingers over the delicate beaded half mask. It was encrusted with hundreds of glittering iridescent silver beads that became warm, pale golds and pinks as she turned it in her hand. It was elegant and feminine with long, sheer, shimmery ribbons to tie it on and Hermione thought it was a pain in the ass. These masks didn't hide the identity of the wearer, not even a little bit. And there was something creepy about seeing someone's eyes through a mask's openings. Death Eaters come to mind. She set it down on her dresser thinking that she'd take it off as soon as she could.

Her dress on the other hand, she loved! It was a long beaded sheath covered in the same iridescent silver-gold-rose beads that skimmed over her body and came to a point (via some sexy side slits) just above her ankles in the front and the back. Looking in her full-length mirror in the privacy of her room, she ran her hands over hips and thighs and felt like she was wearing someone else's body. The bodice had thin, sheer gossamer ribbon straps that matched those on the mask and a subtle V accentuated her full breasts perfectly without making her feel exposed. The long slits up the sides didn't run much higher than her school skirts, but the feeling of the satin lined fabric swishing against her legs made her feel incredibly sexy. Her favorite part of the dress, though, were the two long shimmery panels of fabric that descended from the tops of her shoulders down her back. They were attached along their inner edges to the edges of the open back of the dress. If she grasped the tails and spread her arms a little, the glimmery panels transformed into long dragonfly wings that extended past her knees.

Hermione smoothed her hand over her nervous stomach, took a deep breath and tied her mask behind her head. She had spelled her hair into an elegant, but simple French twist that showed off her neck (one of her favorite features) and the long ribbons tickled her bare back. As she stepped into the corridor outside her room, she thought, _here we go…_


	9. Dragons and Dragonflies

The Great Hall was practically on fire with candlelight

The Great Hall was practically on fire with candlelight. Around the entire perimeter of the room, five tiered layers of candles had been placed with the shortest tier coming to just under Hermione's chin and the tallest at least a foot over Hagrid's head. A low, misty looking fog that glowed eerily around a revealed full moon mostly obscured the enchanted ceiling. All the tables were covered in black sparkling cloth and enormous glistening spider webs hung in the dark corners. The overall effect was warm, cozy and slightly ominous. Hermione thought it was perfect.

"Oh, Hermione! You so look beautiful!" the littlest redhead launched herself at Hermione.

Ginny had wanted to Hermione to get ready with her, Lavender and Parvati, but she turned down the invitation. All the giggling and primping made her way too anxious and they always tried to get her to wear more makeup, do something wild with her, or any number of things that would make her feel like an imposter.

"Thanks, Ginny. So do you!" Hermione replied taking in her blue and green sequined dress and deep red lips. Her dress was feathered along the long hem like her mask and with Ginny's long red wavy hair and alluring eyes, she looked more like a siren then a mere mermaid. Harry was didn't stand a chance.

Lavender came rushing up to them in a flamingo pink-feathered dress that clashed horridly with her complexion and a haggard looking Ron in furry black robes and cat mask was trailing behind her.

"Hermione! I'm so glad you're finally here!" Lavender threw her long arms around Hermione and she obligingly hugged her back. Lavender's easy familiarity always struck Hermione as forced. It was like she was playing at being best friends with everyone and most people were so flattered by the tall beauty's attentions, that they accepted her friendship as genuine. Hermione, on the other hand, just felt kind of used. But, Lavender wasn't a bad person, and Hermione was positive that she wasn't even aware of her behavior, so she did her best to be kind and keep her less-than-generous thoughts at bay.

Hermione hugged Ron briefly and ask about Harry's whereabouts. No sooner had she asked, than Harry walked up behind her and handed a tumbler of juice to Ginny. "Hullo, 'Mione!" Harry said brightly. "You look great." He kissed her on the cheek and promptly asked, "Now, Miss Granger, care to tell us why you turned down, not one, not two, but THREE dates to this thing?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and wondered how he'd found out. "Well, would you all have me spend the entire evening listening to Terry Boot regale me with not just history, but the history of _Quidditch_, my favorite subject, as you know? Or, would you rather I spend the night defending you, Harry, to Zacharias Smith who thinks he would make a much better boy-who-lived?"

Harry snorted into his cup and muttered something like, "I'd happily give up the post."

"Or, best of all, maybe I would be better off spending my time evading Seamus's ever-wandering hands? " she said good naturedly. "I don't need to date to come to a dance that I am going to leave the first chance I get, Harry."

Draco was lazily scanning the busy room as Pansy and Daphne and a fifth year girl he didn't know gossiped excitedly. Goyle and Zabini were entrenched in their never-ending debate of which was the superior sport: Quidditch or Quadpot. Unsurprisingly, Crabbe had already discovered the delights of the snack table and was concentrating on a chocolate muffin.

"Whoa! Check out the mudblood." Crabbe said thickly with his mouth full. They turned in unison in the direction Crabbe was staring.

"So what. She's probably whoring herself in the hope that some fool will lower themselves long enough to pop her shriveling cherry." Blaise was apparently feeling especially vindictive and Draco grimaced inwardly at the image he'd painted.

With no more than a quick glance in her direction, Draco placed his hand at the base of Daphne's back and gently led her to the dance floor.

"Oh Hermiiineee!" Lavender stomped her foot like a three year old. "But, we put so much work into this! You haven't even seen the rose garden or the courtyard yet!"

"I'm sorry, Lav, I guess I'm just not feeling especially social this evening. It does look beautiful. You both did a splendid job, thank you for all your hard work. And I will check out the gardens. First though, I think I need to find Padma and thank her for a job well done also." Hermione glanced around the room.

"I think she's dancing with Dean over by the stage." Ginny supplied.

"Okay, I'm off then. See you all soon. Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone." And with that she made her way through the large hall toward the platform where the professors and Dumbledore normally sat. When she got to the front of the room, sure enough, Padma was dancing to a rock song with Dean. They seemed very focused on each other and Hermione stood off to the side patiently waiting her chance.

Just as the song was ending, the shadow of a tall figure loomed over her left shoulder. "Miss Granger, you are looking absolutely dazzling this evening. I trust you are having a good time?" The twinkling eyes of the Headmaster peeked out from a large and very colorful feathered mask that matched his robes.

"Yes. Professor. Everything looks wonderful and everyone seems to be having a great time." she replied smiling back at him. A slower song began and Hermione shot a quick glance over to Padma who was already swaying in Dean's arms.

"Miss Granger. Would you do me the honor?" the old man asked holding out his arm to her.

"Certainly Professor." She beamed and took his arm.

"I'm glad to see that your accident hasn't hindered you."

"No Professor, other than a small bruise, I'm perfectly well."

"Excellent. Now, tell me, Miss Granger, how do you find your position as Head Girl? Is everything going the way you had hoped?"

"It's going really well. Now that the prefects are all sorted out, things are running very smoothly."

"And your Head Boy? I know you've had a, shall we say 'strained', relationship with young Mr. Malfoy in the past. Have you two found a way to work together reasonably well?"

Hermione thought for a minute before answering. "Actually, Professor, I have to say that Malfoy has been unbelievably dedicated. I can't believe how well the projects he's taken on have been turning out."

"Well, Miss Granger, perhaps you would be less surprised if you remembered that he _does _have the second highest scores in the school, after you, of course. And," Dumbledore continued more somber, "I dare say, Mr. Malfoy has had a much more difficult year on top it. I'm sure he's had to do some reevaluating."

"Yes." Hermione replied softly, wondering how true that statement was and also feeling humbled by the reminder of Malfoy's academic standing.

Draco moved his date gracefully around the dance floor in perfect time with the music. His mother had insisted that every well-bred, pureblooded wizard should be able to dance and thus, had given him years of private lessons. Rather than resent this, he'd found that it was one of his abilities that paid off with young ladies. It was also a skill that few boys his age possessed which made him quite happy to use it every chance he got. The years of moving rhythmically to music had paid off in…other areas as well.

Daphne had been a good choice. She was tall, very easy on the eyes, wasn't prone to giggling, and most importantly, she would leave him alone. The disaster that was Pansy had made Draco exceptionally careful about who he paid attention to. Clingy girls were intolerable and those that seemed to have designs on becoming Mrs. Draco Malfoy made him feel bitter. Daphne, though, was smitten over a bloke who'd graduated two years prior and didn't want anything more from Draco than a few dances and couple compliments that were given easily enough. They made out occasionally and had fucked often enough, when they both needed a release without any attachment, but they hadn't touched each other this year and that was okay with both of them. She was also very independent and if Draco felt like leaving early, all he'd have to do is bid her goodnight.

For the second half of the song, Daphne moved in closer to him, relaxing their formal dance position, and laid her head on his chest. Draco moved his hands to her waist and pulled her a little tighter. It was good to feel someone up against him again. Since his parents' murder he'd lost the love of the chase and he'd put himself in a kind of hibernation as far as girls went, which isn't to say that he didn't have a healthy wank almost every day. He was, after all, a seventeen year-old male.

With Daphne cuddled into his chest, he looked out over the crowd in front of him. A few wizards maintained formal dance positions, but most mirrored Draco's, probably not knowing how to dance formally in the first place. The tall figure of Albus Dumbledore was in his direct line of sight, though all he saw of him was his back. But then, at the start of the bridge, he made a quarter turn and the profiled silvery dress of Hermione Granger glittered in front of him.

The first time she had done it was at the Yule Ball in fourth year. Her transformation had stunned virtually everyone, Draco included, which rankled him to no end. But, what really got him was how she managed to keep surprising everyone. Every year there was at least one ball, and every year, the moment the Gryffindor Princess walked into the room, a brief period of suspended animation seemed to fall over the crowd. Tonight was no different. One minute she wasn't there and the next everyone was gob smacked by her absolute sexiness. Draco didn't like it one bit.

They were happily conversing and moving effortlessly. Granger's head was tilted back looking up at the tall wizard as they spoke. She had a gentle smile on her face and he was drawn to her glossy lips that kept glinting in the candlelight. He let his eyes roam over her petite body and saw at once that his thoughts about her looking like a little girl were far from accurate. Divested of her loose robes, and encased in silver, Draco was surprised to find an almost womanly body. Her tanned legs made brief appearances from the slits in her dress, and her strappy silver heels accentuated her shapely calves. Draco wondered if her numerous adventures with Potter and Co. had made her physically stronger than most girls (save Quidditch players, obviously). Her hips were a bit too narrow to call womanly, but when Dumbledore turned her another quarter turn, presenting him with her backside, he concluded that Granger had the most perfect ass he'd ever seen. _'Well, for a mu..ggleborn, anyway' _ he told himself. He moved one hand up Daphne's back as his eyes moved up Granger's bare back. She had delicate shoulder blades and she held her arms out at perfect angles, one small hand resting on the Headmaster's arm, and the other hooked onto his open palm. She had removed her mask (which reminded Draco to do the same as soon as the song was over) and she held it loosely between two fingers, the long ribbons floating down over her hand. Her hair was pulled up again, and again, it made her neck seem long and elegant. His mind suddenly shifted to an image of his mother's neck, pale and long, with a thin platinum chain she always wore. A small dragon charm with diamond eyes hung from it. Draco's eyes focused again on Hermione's neck, but the only thing that rested there were two small soft curly ringlets that were presumably too short to be swept up into the gathering of honey-colored curls twisted at the back of her head. Continuing his upward perusal, Draco was caught off guard by a pair of blue eyes looking right at him. Draco's cheeks flushed against his will and Dumbledore nodded kindly, and all too knowingly, and Draco gave him a small guilty smile and a nod back before promptly turning Daphne a full turn on the floor.

When the song ended, Dumbledore bid Hermione a gracious farewell and left her to seek out her original goal. She quickly interrupted Padma before the next song began.

"Merlin, Hermione! You look splendid!" Padma said embracing her and then holding her arms out to give her a once over. "You're going to have tell the guys to get in line!"

A skeptical smile spread on Hermione's face. "Thanks, Padma. You look pretty amazing yourself. I see someone won't let you out of their sight." She said inclining her head toward a bashful looking Dean. Padma smiled shyly and looked at the floor. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you what a spectacular job you and Lavender did in here. It looks absolutely amazing!"

"Oh, thank you, but I have to tell you, it was mostly Draco. He's really got great taste. He did let Lav go a little crazy in the courtyard, though, and the spider webs were my idea." Dean made a small coughing noise and Hermione figured she should let the two get back to making eyes at each other.

"Well, it looks wonderful and I wanted to thank you. Have fun tonight!" She winked at the Patil twin, hugged her and began making her way back to her friends. Half way across the dance floor, Hermione's progress was halted by the dark haired Michael Corner asking her to dance. She really didn't want to, but she also didn't want to be mean, and since she couldn't think of a reasonable excuse and the song was half over anyway, she agreed.

As the song was ending, Hermione noticed Terry Boot staring at her anxiously just a few feet away. She groaned inwardly, knowing what was coming, and thanked Michael for the dance.

"Hermione, I know you didn't come with me, but I was hoping we might still have a dance together?"

"Of course, Terry" she replied hoping one dance would appease him for a while. Terry Boot had indeed asked Hermione to the dance which she had politely turned down. She hadn't made up any excuses and just thanked him for the "nice offer". Since the beginning of the year he had been not so subtly flirting with her, and while he was okay looking, somehow every conversation they had ended up being about the history of Quidditch. Hermione had not been exaggerating. Determined to avoid the topic tonight, Hermione peppered Terry with questions ranging from the decorations to Ravenclaw to the quality of the food at Hogwarts. When the song ended, she politely made a quick goodbye and left a somewhat dazed Boot staring after her.

With a relaxed, but intent stride she attempted to make her way to her friends once again. About six more steps from the edge of the dance floor, she felt a hand on her upper arm. _Oh, for crying out loud!_ she thought turning abruptly. But she sighed in relief and smiled as she took in Harry's amused smile.

"Miss Hermione Granger," he said dramatically as he took her hand and bowed slightly, "would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

She laughed at his over the top gesture, "Of course, Harry. Who would turn down the famous Boy Who Lived?" She smirked at him.

Harry scowled at her, but didn't respond to that remark. He led her a bit further onto the dance floor and then twirled her into his embrace with a smile.

"Ooh, Mr. Potter, your dancing skills have improved, I see." She teased, and they both had a good laugh remembering his stumbling dance steps at the Yule Ball.

It was nice to dance with her best friend. She had been feeling like the three of them were slipping away from each other. Pairing off did have a tendency to do that, she supposed. Her best friends were both tall handsome men and of course it was inevitable that they'd find girlfriends (and hopefully, she'd find a boyfriend). But she was a little afraid that she would no longer have a place in their lives. With her head resting comfortably on Harry's chest, she realized that no matter who came into their lives, or where they ended up in the world, they would always be friends. No matter what. She lifted her head and looked at Harry questioningly. He gave her a charming, boyish smile in response.

"What is it Hermione?"

"Harry, promise me, that no matter what happens, no matter who we dating, or what jobs we have, or where we end up living, that we will always be best friends."

"Of course, love. Always." He kissed her on the forehead and she laid her cheek back on his chest.

"'Mione, there's something I have to tell you." Hermione's head shot up, suddenly wary of the nervous tone in Harry's voice." Harry looked held her gaze for a moment before taking a breath and continuing. "It's about Ron, actually… He's going to proposed to Lavender tonight."

Hermione's feet stopped moving and she blinked a few times before her mouth started working again. "But…but, he's only seventeen!"

"I know, but you know, they do it differently in the wizarding world. And they do seem to get along really well."

Hermione spluttered, "Well, yeah but... but… that's a really big step. I mean…wow. Do you think she is going to accept?"

Harry sighed in a way that made Hermione think she wasn't the only who wasn't wild about Ron's girlfriend. "I've a pretty good guess that she will."

Hermione squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Well, good for him then! I'm happy for him." Harry gave her a weak smile that said he didn't really believe her, then pulled her head back down to his chest.

"Ron will always be your best friend too, Hermione. Always." She nodded against his chest and they swayed in silence until the song ended.

"Harry, when is Ron going to do this?"

Harry looked toward a small group gathered by a window. "Um, my guess is he is about to do it right now."

"Let's go!" she said energetically and dragged him over to the window where Ginny, Parvati, Seamus, Padma and Dean (holding hands, she noted) were huddled. Peeking over Ginny's head she could see Ron and Lavender walking to the center of the courtyard.

Padma was right, Lavender did go all out with the decorations outside. Paper bats were zooming through the air overhead and fake spiders hung on shiny strands from just about every tree branch. And something she couldn't quite make out was slithering in the dirt along the bushes. But, it definitely was not a snake.

"Harry, isn't Ron scared of spiders?" Dean asked.

Harry snickered with a wicked grin. "Terrified, mate. Terrified." The group collectively chuckled and giggled.

Ron looked terrified indeed, and kept swiveling his head around. Lavender, on the other hand, was oblivious to Ron's state and was chattering on. Hermione pasted a smile on her face to match the smiles of her friends, but anyone who looked carefully could see that it didn't make it to her eyes. Finally, Ron stopped Lavender in the center of the courtyard, clear of any tree branches overhead and could be seen kneeling down on one knee. For one moment a look of confusion crossed Lavender's face but was quickly replaced by unrestrained glee. Though they couldn't hear Ron's proposal, the answer was obvious as Ron stood up and Lavender threw her arms around Ron's neck, hopping up and down excitedly.

_Well, okay, good. I guess they are right for each other. And why shouldn't they be happy?_ Hermione told herself, but a hollow spot in her chest was aching dully. She thought she had made peace with the fact that Ron was more like a brother to her, and so she guessed she was jealous of their happiness. Not that she was unhappy, but now, with Ron engaged and Harry and Ginny well on their way, she felt a little lonely. That's all, just a little lonely.

Hand in hand Ron and Lavender came through the small door from the courtyard where the group waiting eagerly at the window promptly attacked them. Hugs were given all around and Lavender showed off her dainty ring as if were a ten carat diamond.

Hermione kissed Ron on the cheek and told him how truly happy for him she was, and also reminded him that married men were not to forget their best friends. A celebration in the Gryffindor common room was declared and the group departed. Hermione, however, as Head Girl, couldn't leave the dance quite so early, so she sent them off without her with instructions to have wonderful time.

An hour after the departure of Potter and Co., Blaise grumbled out of the Great Hall to go change before his detention with Filch. Pansy was left pouting at one of the small tables, even though she knew her date would have to leave early. Daphne sat next to her, trying to console her. Although Draco normally enjoyed the chance to show off his superior dancing skills, his impeccable sense of style, and his good looks, tonight he was growing impatient to leave.

"Draco," Pansy's voice always grated on him, but currently it was like chewing broken glass, "Now I've no one to dance with." Draco looked down at a pouting Pansy Parkinson with a cool expression. "Daph said you would dance with me. Come on Draco, don't make me beg." God, that was the last he wanted, her begging. He raised his eyebrow at his date who returned a mischievous, knowing smile. Fine. He'd get her back for that one.

Draco led Pansy to the dance floor and swept her up elegantly in a modified waltz. He skillfully tuned out her prattling, responding when needed to make her think he was listening. He did manage to catch Zabini's name more than once and he wondered if she had a thing for the dark Slytherin. He scanned the room lazily over her shoulder, taking in the pairings that had developed and the little crowds of drama that were inevitable at functions such as this, as well as the absence of the Head Girl.

Four more dances with his date were all Draco could manage before kissing Daphne's hand (he did have a reputation to uphold) and taking his leave. As he exited the Great Hall he debated what do with himself. It was way to early to go to bed on a Friday night, but he was also feeling rather unsocial. The Slytherin common room would no doubt be noisy and rowdy, so that was out of question. He decided on the HCR on the off chance that Granger was there (with a book in her hand, no doubt, he thought wryly) and he could torment her. And if not, well, you never know what you will find in the halls of Hogwarts after a dance.

Draco was vaguely disappointed that he didn't come across anything more interesting than a couple of fifth year girls giggling outside the charms classroom. But his disappointment was forgotten as he stepped into the fire lit HCR. The sound of loud banging could be heard from the little kitchenette. He shut the door quickly to find the most shocking thing he'd ever seen in all his time at Hogwarts.

Hermione Granger, Gryffindor ice princess, was stumbling around barefoot in the darkened kitchenette, in her silver dress, slamming cupboard doors with one hand and a bottle of firewhiskey dangling by it's neck in the other.

Foregoing composure completely, Draco just stood gaping at her, eyebrows raised and mouth hanging open, until she noticed him.

"I can't find any fucking glasses." She huffed in exasperation as she closed the cupboard. "Oh, fuck it!" She said and took a large swig right out the bottle. _Granger, drunk? And cussing? Oh, this is going to be good! _


	10. Something

"Granger…what the hell are you doing?"

"Come on Malfoy! We're celebrating!" she said with a wide, stupid grin, holding out the bottle to him. From the looks of it she had already downed about a quarter of the bottle. He took the bottle and looked at her questioningly, but a wary smile was reluctantly forming on his face. This was way to good of an opportunity to pass up. He took a healthy swig. Her eyes widened with mirth.

"Ooooh, aren't you afraid you'll get _muggle_ germs?" she teased, giggling. Draco quirked a disapproving eyebrow at her and ignored the question. He'd never heard Granger giggle before and it was a little strange, but her unguarded, and clearly giddy, demeanor was also kind of amusing. He could play along.

"Alright, Granger, what are we celebrating? Did Potter finally admit that he's a wanker?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, idiot. That's you, remember?" she grabbed the bottle back and clumsily dropped onto the floor in front of the couch and leaned back against it. The glow of the fire painted her in warm golden light and sparkled off the beads on her dress. She stretched her legs out in front of her, smoothing out her dress as she did so. She smirked to herself, causing Draco to frown. He plopped himself down into one of the large leather armchairs and reached out for the bottle again.

"How did the Gryffindor Princess get her pristine hands on a full bottle of Firewhiskey? Or, are you a closet lush with a hidden stash in your trunk?" He tossed his mask onto couch she was sitting against.

She glared a moment at him for the hated title, but then moved on, "I found some snotty fourth years trying to spike the pumpkin juice."

"Oh, Granger, could you be anymore of a tight ass?" He said condescendingly.

"Whatever. Firewhiskey and pumpkin juice are hardly a good combination." She leaned forward, arm outstretched for the bottle.

Draco snorted. "And how would her highness know that?"

Hermione gave him a sideways glance and a mischievous smile came over her face, and she let that be her answer as she took another gulp. Draco's eyebrows rose on his forehead.

"So what are we drinking to?" he asked.

"My best friend's engagement" she replied with a wry, wavy smile, holding up the bottle in the air in salute.

Draco leaned over and grabbed the bottle. "The Weasel actually talked Brown into marrying him? She's a bigger moron than I thought!" Draco said shaking his head and taking another pull off the bottle.

"He proposed and she said yes." She said matter-of-factly, gazing into the fire, an odd expression on her face. Someone in this was definitely a moron. Maybe a few someones.

Draco took in the odd expression then raised the bottle high in the air. "Congratulations Weaselbee," he said theatrically, "Didn't anyone tell you not marry the girl you lose your virginity to? Ah, but at least you know for sure that she puts out. I'm sure she'll pump out lots of freckled Weasleys and you can all live together with your brood in your hovel of a house." He took a large gulp and grimaced slightly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, "How do you know she was his first? Maybe he lost it to someone else?"

"Oh, like who? You?" He scoffed in disbelief.

"No, not like me." She said a little hotly and turned back to the fire. She shrugged with her arms crossed over her chest, "I don't know. It's not like they would tell me who they were having sex with. I'm sure they wouldn't want to taint my pure, innocent ears." She ended as if speaking to herself.

Draco wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so he watched her get lost in her thoughts as she started unseeingly into the flames. Other than his perusal on the dance floor, he had made a concentrated effort to not look at her at the masque. Now he was reminded of why he'd tried not to look at her. She was dazzling. And the warm glow flickering over her only intensified the effect. His eyes paused on her shoulder where the thin strap of her dress crossed it. He felt a little off-balance with her. Just in the last 24 hours, he'd felt terrified, protective, angry, and awed – all over this little witch that had made his blood boil for six years. And now he was going to get pissed with her. A little flutter of excitement shot through his veins.

"It was supposed to be me, you know." She said quietly. Draco eyes darted to her face and he waited for her to continue.

"There's always been this…idea…. that he and I would end up together eventually. My job was to wait until he had the courage to finally admit his feelings to me and his job was to…well, stop being such a prat and admit his feelings to me." She smirked to herself, giving Draco that squirmy feeling in his stomach again. She sighed tiredly.

"So, you're sitting here all heartbroken over Weasley then?" Draco asked wondering if she might start crying.

But, instead she burst into open-mouthed laughter. "Are you kidding?" she said between raucous giggles. "Ron drives me crazy! I'd probably hex him before he could say 'I do.' No, no, nooooo. I figured out a while ago that he wasn't for me." She guffawed.

Draco was oddly pleased that she wasn't pining for the witless wonder. Everyone always said that they belonged together, and Draco had never been able to see it. Weasley had boorish manners, deficient intellect – especially compared to Granger, and he had the subtlety of a hurricane. They were not a good match. "So what's this all about then?

"I just, you know…God, I can't believe I'm telling you this!" She threw her face into her hands. When she continued her voice was muffled. "I just wonder if there's anyone out there for me." Her hands fell into her lap she looked up at vase of jasmine on the mantle. "We both know I'm not exactly considered…desirable." She paused here and Draco had to fight the habitual urge to rub salt in her insecurities.

"Which is not to say that I want anyone from Hogwarts. I know _you_ don't think I deserve anything higher than pond scum, but _I_ happen to think I can do better than this lot." She said with a large dose of incredulity. Draco's only response to the accusation was to raise a questioning eyebrow at her and remain silent. The truth was that Draco agreed. After seven years of working his ass off to only come in second to her every time, he had little doubt about her intelligence. And while she could be bossy and, dare he say it, arrogant, he'd always kind of admired the way she handled Potter and Weasley. There was little question about who was leader in that group. He doubted any of Hogwart's finest could keep her busy little mind engaged.

Draco leaned towards her and rested his elbows on his knees. After taking a slow swig, he leaned in a little closer and drawled, "Granger, are we about done with your little pity party here?"

"Ugh! Totally!" She threw her arms up in exasperation with herself and smiled.

"Let's play a drinking game." Draco said in a tone that didn't leave room for argument. A large, full smile bloomed on her face and she chuckled.

"Okay, um…how?"

"Ah, drinking with the Gryffindor Princess, how I love to corrupt purity." Draco said with a wicked grin.

She snorted, "I'm hardly pure, Malfoy."

"Sure, Granger, whatever you say." She rolled her eyes at him. Draco stood up with his trademark smirk and began unbuttoning his robes. Hermione had paid him little attention at the dance, but up close she took in his unusual costume. He was a tall column of black with silver embroidery in a pattern of swirls and scallops. The long jacket went to his ankles, but unlike a robe, it was fitted around his torso with buttons that ended at his waist. From there the jacket was open to the floor. With the straight arms and mandarin collar and his pale skin and bright hair, Draco looked striking and regal. It wasn't obvious, but judging from the embroidery Hermione guessed that he was a dragon. What else would he be? She liked the subtly of the costume, and of course, he looked incredible in it. Hermione watched him shrug the heavy fabric off his shoulders and throw the garment casually over the back of the chair. Underneath he was only wearing a slim white undershirt and black jeans that rested low on his hipbones. She couldn't take her eyes off him.

Draco smirked at her expression but didn't say anything. He sat back in the chair and pulled up one leg of his jeans to take off his boots. Hermione felt her mouth open. Malfoy's boots were the sexiest boots she'd ever seen. Tall, black of course, leather, with a sort of foot hugging sole – almost like a moccasin. She watched, fascinated, as he unhooked the long line of buttons along his calf. Looking closely, she recognized the soles. These are the same shoes he always wears, she just never saw the tops before. The thought of Malfoy wearing these unbelievable hot boots under his school uniform everyday, made her cheeks burn. In fact, this was the most "undressed" she had ever seen him and that thought made her heart beat just a little faster. And, of course, he happened to have really nice feet too. They reminded her of marble statues in Italy of Roman gods and heroes. She turned her eyes to the bottle resting at the base of the chair and reached for it.

"Slow down, Granger. There'll be plenty of time for that in a moment. We don't want you passing out just yet." Draco sat on the floor with Hermione and reached for the bottle.

"God this is weird." She said.

"Yes. It is." Draco agreed with an odd tone. "Okay, this how we're going to play. Each of us gets to ask the other any question, which you can either answer or take a drink." Draco explained sitting cross-legged facing Hermione with his back to the fire and leaning back on his hands.

"Right, like I'm going to get shit-faced with _you_ and tell you all my secrets. That sounds like a recipe for humiliation Malfoy!"

"Have secrets to tell do you?" Draco asked mischievously. "Look, you get to ask me anything too, so I have just as much at stake as you do. And I'm sure I have more _humiliating_ secrets than you do Princess." Draco wasn't sure why, but his desire to explore the Gryffindor's head was suddenly very intense. It reminded him of how he felt when he as searching for the snitch.

The Gryffindor's head, however, was a little fuzzy, but she tried valiantly to consider the pros and cons of this little game. In the end, she decided that she could make sure to ask some really good questions and if she really didn't want to answer, she could drink instead. A vague feeling that something important was about to happen settled in her stomach. She just hoped it was a good thing and not the stupidest thing she'd ever done. And she hoped she'd be sober enough to remember it.

"Okay, but I get to go first."

"Be my guest, Granger."

"What do you want to do when you graduate?"

Draco sat there shaking his head and chuckling. "Seriously Granger? That's the most burning question you have for me?"

Hermione scowled "Shut up Malfoy! Maybe I'm saving the big one's for later! Just answer the question!"

In truth, he was a little surprised. No one had ever asked Draco that. Not his parents, not his friends, not even his head of house. He figured they all thought that with the Malfoy wealth he wouldn't have to work, or maybe they all assumed he was going to take over Malfoy Enterprises, and sometimes, when he was feeling especially cynical, he figured that they didn't think he'd live that long. Hell, sometimes he thought that. But a life of leisure, or following in Daddy's footsteps was not what he wanted for himself, and ever since fifth year he had been harboring a small hope of being an Auror. But, with his family's reputation and known involvement in the Dark Arts, he'd never told anyone. And not so much for fear of being laughed at, but because he'd rather hang on to the impossible hope than to have it squashed.

He looked at Granger thoughtfully for a moment, considering whether or not to trust her. Wondering why he was about to divulge his guarded secret to _her._ After a minute he turned to the fire and then back at her, looking her directly in the eye, daring her to laugh. "I want to be an Auror." She just nodded like she had expected as much.

Draco face took on a look that said, _You've got to be fucking joking!_ and he let out a disbelieving chuckle-like noise and with it, a weight that he didn't know was there, seemed to lift off his chest. He almost smiled. Almost. Instead he gave her a wicked look.

"Alright Granger, your turn. Have you and your boy toys ever done anything naughty? Kiss? Make out?"

Hermione screwed her face in disgust. "God, NO! Harry's like my brother and that's just… just gross! And Ron, well, that just never happened and now I wouldn't want it to."

"Did you ever want them? Maybe both at the same time?" Draco snuck in, wagging his eyebrows.

"Ugh! Nooo!" She wailed. "You're disgusting!"

Draco shrugged, "Had to ask, didn't I?"

"Is that _your_ most burning question, Malfoy?"

"Hardly, but you should know I'm not the only one who's ever wondered about the three of you."

"Oh God! No!" She buried her face in her hands. "How could anyone think that?"

Draco shrugged again.

"Ugh! Fine, your turn. What's with all the muggle books on the bookcase?"

"Oh Granger," he said as if he'd been asked hundred times already, "literature is literature." And then, thinking he shouldn't destroy her image of him, he added with a smirk, "Besides, haven't you heard the saying, 'Know thy enemy'? Let's just consider it research."

"Right, Malfoy. I'm sure you get tons of muggle-hating ammunition from Tennyson. Or do you find that Whitman is better for that sort of thing?"

Draco felt his anger start to simmer. "Actually, I find the complete lack of information on our world in muggle history does the job best. You know, in the Middle Ages our worlds were fairly entwined, and now…" his voice was rising as he leaned forward, "now, we've been reduced to fucking FAIRY TALES for babies, and WE have to hide from THEM, for THEIR safety, not ours! Why shouldn't I be able to read muggle literature just because I'm a wizard? It's fucking ludicrous!" Draco was practically seething and took a large swallow of firewhiskey, game or not.

Hermione was stunned. She sat wide-eyed and when he'd set the bottle down with a wobbly thud, she grabbed it herself and took a large swallow also. She had read both wizarding history and muggle history and knew of the reasons wizards had initially gone into hiding. But, it was so long ago that she wondered if muggles and wizards could live side by side again. She had felt extremely lucky to be able to join the world of magic, but when she stepped into Draco's shoes, who had grown up in that world, she could see how he'd be angry at the sacrifices wizards were forced to make.

"You're right. You're absolutely right." She told him without the smallest trace of pity. Then to change the subject and hopefully not spend the entire evening drunk and angry, she said, "My turn. Ask me a fun one." She smiled in anticipation.

Draco blinked at her and his anger dissipated instantly. Twice now. Twice she had completely flipped his angry mood within seconds. No tiptoeing, no placating. She just…listened, or more than that, _considered_ what he said. Are all Gryffindors like that?

A fun one, huh? Well, this would be fun for him anyway. "Are you a virgin?"

"Malfoy!" she screamed and threw a small pillow from the couch at him that missed him completely due to her inebriated aim.

Smirking impishly he assured her, "Don't worry Granger, you can always take a drink instead of answering. Though, that course of action is an answer in itself."

Hermione saw the futility of trying to avoid it, so with a deep blush rapidly climbing her neck (and she hoped disguised in the firelight), she answered, bravely trying to be nonchalant about it.

"I'm sure the status of my virginity is as well known in this bloody school as is your status of being an utter slag." She smirked back triumphantly.

"Doth mine ears deceive me?" he joked. "Did Granger just call me a _slag?_ Granger, didn't you hear? I'm as pure as my blood."

She burst out laughing, doubling over and holding her stomach. Draco threw the pillow at her and it hit her on the side of her head, making her laugh so hard that her legs folded up with the rest of her. Her drunken laughter was contagious and Draco put up a good fight, smiling widely, before succumbing to it. Soon, they were laughing hysterically, taking in large gulps of air, looking at each other's watery eyes and red faces and falling into a fit of laughter all over again. At some other moment in the future they would both look back on the moment and wonder why that was so funny.

When their laughter subsided, or more accurately, when Hermione began to feel nauseous and forced herself to stop, Draco said in a mockingly serious tone, "First of all, Granger, I am _not_ a slag. I'll have you know that I am actually rather selective about who I sleep with. Second, you didn't exactly answer the question."

Throwing her arms and letting them hit the floor heavily, "Fine! Yes. I'm a virgin. Who cares? Just cause I don't want to spread my legs for some fumbling idiot who isn't going to last more than a minute! I know you all think I'm some frigid prude, but I just don't see the point in being disappointed by any of the fine specimens at Hogwart's."

"So, what? You're going to wait to get married? 'Cause, I can tell you now, that's a mistake. You could end up with someone who doesn't know how to please you, or worse, someone who doesn't care." Draco wondered briefly to himself why he was giving Granger sex advice. It wasn't like she asked for it and he certainly didn't give a rat's ass.

"No, I'm not going to wait. At least, I hope not." She said wryly. "Once school is over, I'll find myself a nice, slightly older gentleman, who actually knows what he is doing, and I'll have him show me the ropes."

Oddly, this last statement made Draco blush. Something about Granger and ropes flashed through his mind and he momentarily felt like a secret he'd been hiding had been exposed. He plowed through the conversation in an attempt to ignore the feeling.

"Well, it sounds like you have everything figured out. Rather clinical if you ask me. I mean, I know you like things orderly and all, but I had you pegged for a romantic. You know, love at first sight, happily ever after and all that. Oh, and, Granger, just to set the record straight, not everyone in this school is an inexperienced 'fumbling idiot who won't last more than a minute'" He sent her a sexy wink, showing that he was clearly referring to himself.

Her stomach flip-flopped and she thought it was probably the effect of the alcohol. "That may be true, Malfoy. But we're talking about people that _I_ would sleep with – and – who would also sleep with me. As for love at first sight, let me ask you this, and you can count as my next question: Did you take Parkinson's virginity?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Exactly! The last thing I want is to turn into a love-sick fool fawning all over some boy the way she does to you, just because I gave him my virginity. It's pathetic the way girls mix up love and sex, especially their first time, and I don't mean to be one of them. I'll wait until I find a guy I'm not interested in, and who isn't be interested in me – which shouldn't be too difficult – do it, and let the love stuff come later. Besides, as I said before, I don't want some randy boy rutting against me for a few minutes in a broom closet until his…his _thing_ explodes and he runs away. I want a … fuller experience that that."

Draco was not entirely sure how to respond to that. He felt a stab of injustice at being lumped in with all the males at Hogwarts, and he was a little disconcerted by her ideas of love and sex. There was something kind of sad about it. Not that he cared what an uptight bookworm thought.

"A fuller experience? I suppose you want candles and roses and the lot?"

Hermione felt her cheeks burning. "That's not what I meant." She said quietly. She may be inexperienced, but she had an active imagination. She couldn't exactly name what she wanted, but it wasn't a scene out of a romance novel. The flush on her neck and disappearing down the front of her dress caught his eye and he was glad he was wearing jeans and not his thinner school trousers.

Draco raised an eyebrow, beyond curious now. "Well? What did you mean?"

Hermione looked at Draco, holding his gaze with a defiant expression. Without breaking eye contact she reached between them grabbing the bottle and took a large drink. Draco's other eyebrow joined the first. _Well, that's interesting_

Hermione thought this was a good time to change the subject and she did have a "burning question" or two that she wanted answered.

"Why did you save me?" She blurted out, twisting her hands in her lap.

Draco was caught off guard, but recovered quickly. "You're not sorry I did are you?"

"No, of course not. I know I haven't properly thanked you yet. Um, so…thank you, Malfoy." She paused.

"You're welcome." Draco said, confused by the twisting in his stomach.

"But, um, what were you doing out there?" she asked remembering her query.

"I saw you and Longbottom split up from the window and I went out there to reprimand you both. We're on the verge of a bloody war, in case you weren't aware. It's incredibly stupid to be alone outside at night. You could have been killed." For some reason, he still couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.

"Malfoy, I didn't know you cared." She responded snarkily, trying to keep the mood light, and cover up the war of feeling battling inside. She was angry at being scolded – again, ashamed at her foolishness, incredibly grateful that he _had_ been there, and surprised by Malfoy's apparent concern. And of course, there was the part where she was drunk and Malfoy was beautiful and sitting right in front of her. But she was ignoring that part.

Draco huffed but didn't deny the accusation.

"My turn. So, let me see if I've got this…" He resumed the previous line of questioning, "You want an, as yet, undefined, 'fuller' experience your first time, you don't want to lose your virginity in a broom closet, you don't want candles and romance, you're afraid of being in love, you want it to last more than a few minutes, you don't think anyone at Hogwarts is up to the task, but you are also not waiting until you get married, and Granger, did I hear you correctly? Did you say 'his _thing_'?" The look on his face was pure amusement. Hermione groaned.

"His _'thing'_ Granger? Are you afraid to say the _nasty, dirty_ words?" he teased her, mirth and mischief dancing in his eyes. She blushed crimson, wincing but still smiling in embarrassment.

"No." she said in a quiet and unsure voice, which was like shouting from the top of the Astronomy Tower that she was indeed a bit shy about it.

An unholy grin stretched wide on Draco's face. "Come on Granger, you can say it…" he goaded her.

Shutting her eyes tight and squishing up her face she squeaked "penis" and then immediately covered her face in her hands. Draco chuckled. She looked utterly adorable in her embarrassment.

"Oh Granger!" Draco chastised her. "You can do better than that. Where is all that Gryffindor courage you're famous for?"

She shook her head in her hands and a mumbled, "I can't" came out. Draco could hardly contain his glee at his chance to tease her mercilessly. A wicked idea came to him and his grin grew.

"Alright Granger, I'll make you a deal." He said shifting closer to her so his back was up against the couch also. She kept her red face buried in her hands and let him continue. "I'll whisper a word in your ear and for every word you repeat out loud, I'll take a drink. Just think, you can be liberated and get me smashed in one go."

Hermione felt his shoulder press up against hers and her breathing hitched. This was such a bad idea, but she was so intrigued and so aroused that she knew she would do it. She felt reckless, like she was speeding forward with no control, like she was on a shaking, rickety rollercoaster plunging to her inevitable death and she was powerless to stop it.

She lifted her head and let if fall back behind her, and said to the ceiling, "I can't believe I'm doing this." Her head was swimming and fuzzy, but she wasn't so far gone that the strangeness of this whole situation didn't hit her again. She couldn't fathom what was making her continue on his course with Malfoy, other than that she felt like maybe years of hating each other were being erased sip by sip. That was worth mortal humiliation right?

Draco took her comment as consent and turned towards her to place his arm on the seat of the couch behind her head, he leaned in close and put his hand up to his mouth. She faced forward stiffly, suddenly aware that he was closer to her than he'd ever been. Pausing for just a moment before he spoke, she felt his warm breath wash over her skin. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip.

"All right, Granger," he whispered. Her shoulder was pressed into his chest and she felt like she was spiraling already. "I'll start you out easy." Nothing about this was going to be easy.

"The first word is … llliiick."

Her stomach plummeted. His voice was suddenly deep and sultry, and it fanned against her neck like the action the word described. Her heart thumped suddenly in her chest. She kept her eyes closed and tried to control her breathing.

Draco stayed in position, a few small inches from Hermione's neck, waiting for her to repeat the word. He was caught off guard by a vaguely familiar scent. It was orange and jasmine, amber and honey and vanilla, and he was certain he'd smelled it somewhere before. He took a deep quiet breath and closed his eyes. It was warm and sensual without being cloying. He imagined soft waves of thick liquid chocolate wrapping around him. He pulled back a little to escape the unexpected and definitely unwanted sensation.

"Come on Granger. Say it." His voice was low and slightly gravelly.

"Lick." She said a little too loudly and too quickly. He grinned and pulled back further to take a sip of firewhiskey. The bottle was only a third full at this point and Draco could tell that his judgment was more than a little impaired. But there was something forbidden and enticing about making the Gryffindor blush in shame. He leaned back in with a devilish grin.

"Whisper it. Slowly." he whispered. She hesitated.

"Lick" it was so quiet he had to strain to hear it.

He took another drink, grinning to himself at her rigid posture and closed eyes before leaning in again.

When she felt his soft breathing on her skin this time, she let out a long slow breath, keeping her eyes closed. She could see the dancing flames of the fire through her closed eyes and she could felt the heat radiating off his body. As long as she didn't look at him, she could pretend.

"Wet" His voice was gravelly and low again and she felt…wet. She could feel the flush bloom across her chest and her neck. How was he doing this to her with these inane words?

Draco watched her chest rising and falling more rapidly and he felt heady with anticipation.

"Wet" She repeated quietly, slowly, like he had commanded.

Draco pulled away and tilted the bottle back again. His thoughts were racing in wobbly circles. The alcohol had definitely kicked in. He was aroused, there was no denying it, and he was glad she had her eyes closed so she couldn't see how hard he was. But he still had control.

"Suck" It sounded like an order and she felt her nipples hardened. She took a deep breath, not realizing that it was a dead give away to her current state.

Draco knew he was pushing this too far, but he couldn't stop. It felt like an addiction, craving the next dose of the Head Girl's secrets. She was uncharted territory and he was charging forward thoughtlessly.

"Suck" she whispered after a moment of working up the courage.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment before pulling away to take another drink. The bottle was down to only a quarter left and Draco felt the gentle haze in his mind. He looked at Granger's profile and saw that she still had her eyes closed and her neck and chest were red with her flush. Her scent was fogging his mind and pulling him back in.

His breath fanned over her ear and she shivered. "Fffuck" he whispered.

"Fuck" she repeated softly and quickly before she had time to think. Draco gulped hard and forced himself to pull away. He took a small sip of Firewhiskey and shifted his position slightly. This was insane and stupid but he couldn't stop.

He moved in again, readjusting how he was sitting again. The soft little curls that had never made into her twist brushed against his forearm. "Cock." The word that started this intoxicating madness. He pulled back a little to watch her reaction.

Hermione swallowed past the lump in her throat. His voice was smoldering and she had the bizarre urge to turn and lick up him slowly. Like a cat. She couldn't do this. It was too much. It was too revealing. It was Draco Malfoy! She had to end this.

"Say it, Granger" He commanded harshly. Her breath suddenly hitched and she became very aware of the heat between her legs. Her nerves were singing. She wanted to do it. Something in his voice made her want to obey.

"Cock" she whispered shakily, barely audible.

Draco was overwhelmed with pride. He made her say it. He pushed her over that barrier. He wanted to both hug her really hard and devour her. The small amount of reason that remained in him fought to gain control. He lowered his head so his breath caressed her neck. "Good girl." He told her in that low voice.

A smile broke over Hermione's mouth and she felt Malfoy move away from her to drink, but she still couldn't open her eyes, couldn't look at him.

He had thought of stopping, ending this dangerous game, but his new success spurred him on. He felt impulsive and out of control, wondering how far he could push her, and he leaned back in.

"Pussy" he said against her neck, lips just out of range. She felt the consonant puff over her hot skin and her heart sped up. She wanted to please him again, but her mind was a blur.

"Come on Granger, you can do this. Say it… Pussy." His voice was so seductive. So convincing. So unassailable. He could ask her to slit her wrists in that voice and she might consider it.

Her brows furrowed in her effort to dredge up her courage. "Pussy." She murmured as she let her breath out. Her palms were flat on the floor on either side of her, fingers spread like she was afraid she'd fall. Draco could feel her trembling.

"That's my girl." He said warmly. An alarm was going off in Hermione's head, but she couldn't seem to concentrate on it. She felt hot and itchy and she started squirming a little. Draco could see her thighs clenching together underneath the silver dress. He wanted to run his hand up her leg to look at the cut on her knee. In his mind, he laved his tongue over that spot the way he had with the washcloth. He closed his eyes against her silver-encased legs and lifted the bottle to his lips before leaning in once again.

"Knee" He whispered in her ear. He couldn't explain why he chose that word exactly. In a way, he felt like he wanted to punish her with the thoughts that had been plaguing him for weeks. He wanted to remind her of when he blew on her wet knee and how he'd made her gasp. He'd done it. Not some older, experienced stranger. _He_ did that to her.

And she did remember. Even through the thick fog in her mind, she remembered. "Knee" she whispered back like it was a confession. At that moment, both breathing rapidly, they understood each other perfectly. Draco felt her body tense and he looked down to see her hands curled into tiny fists. He took another small sip. There was only one more thing he wanted from her.

"Please." It seemed both a request and a command and even Draco himself couldn't decide. He wanted something from her. Her trust. Her smell. Her blush. Her knee. Something. And he wanted her ask him. To plead with him. For something.

"Please." It was almost a sob. She was asking, begging. "Oh God." She whispered into her hands, feeling too out of control.


	11. Forbidden Fruit

**A/N: Hi everyone! So, I don't know what happened, but I think I missed a chapter (and it's a chapter you don't want to miss). **

**So to recap: At the end of Ch. 9 Dragons and Dragonflies, they were at the Halloween Masque and then Draco went to HCR to find a drunk Hermione. Now, go read Ch.10 Something... (that's the one that got skipped) and then this chapter will make SO much more sense. I'd also like to apologize for not double checking the stories after I posted. Seems 's software likes to add a weird first line at the beginning of each chapter. No, every chapter does not start with "Draco shoved the note into his History book." That would be very silly. snicker, snicker I will do a better job from now on.  
**

**Thank you for all the great reviews! Keep 'em coming! And now...Enjoy! **

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Draco closed his eyes, heat radiating from her neck millimeters from his lips. He breathed heavily against her skin. That last one was a mistake. He could already see that it would be his undoing. Firewhiskey was swirling around his brain and twisting his stomach. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted her under him, sobbing, begging, just like that. He'd crossed the line. They were not even friends, remember?

He tore himself away, eyes closed still and fell back against the couch with a thud, the bottle of Firewhiskey nearly empty and sitting forgotten a foot away. His head titled back heavily on the seat and he pressed his palms against his hot eyes. He sat that way for minutes, listening to Granger breathing through the blood rushing in his ears and the swirling in his head.

"I….think I need to lay down." She pushed out. Hermione finally opened her eyes and the room was tilting. She titled slowly with it and lay on the rug right where she had been sitting all night.

Draco watched her gently slip down onto the rug and he sighed in relief. She would be out in moments, was probably already gone, leaving him to stare blankly ahead; alone with his hard cock and murky thoughts that he hoped he would not remember tomorrow.

Her bare feet pressed into his thigh causing him to blink open his sleep-heavy eyes. His back ached and he thought his ass might be asleep. He groaned. He had his arms crossed tightly over his chest and he could see that the fire was almost out. He hadn't moved in who knows how long. He looked blearily down at the silver snake stretched out on her side next to him. Her smooth, caramel girl-legs were exposed to mid-thigh thanks to the slits in her dress and she seemed to be hunching her shoulders slightly. Draco could hear a soft snoring sound. He hazily thought he was supposed to laugh, but he wasn't sure. Her little toes tried to wiggle under his leg again and his delayed gaze shifted to her feet. She was seeking warmth like a burrowing animal.

Draco pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch and dragged it over her feet. His body fell sideways next to hers trying to cover her shoulders and, balancing on one elbow, he could just reach the pillow they had thrown earlier. Her neck was stretched oddly with her head on the floor and her curls coming loose. It was a task, but he managed to shove the pillow under her. He looked then to the couch for the other small pillow and dragged it under his own head. He fell against it heavily and sleep claimed him immediately.

Something was tickling her shoulder. A soft, intermittent wash over her skin. She shifted slightly. As Hermione emerged into semi-consciousness, so did a painful pounding in her head. She groaned and brought a hand to her forehead. A hand. There was a large hand spread over her entire stomach. She reached down to confirm this and placed her palm over it. The hand suddenly tugged her backwards against a warm, hard body. Malfoy! Oh God! She started to move away and she was hauled back tightly in an iron grip. The sudden movement made her head throb and her eyes rolled back. He had to be asleep. No way would he be caught dead in this position. She tried to work out how to extricate herself without waking him, but she couldn't focus through the throbbing pain and she gave in to his warmth as she let herself slip back into unconsciousness.

Draco was suspended in that strange state somewhere between sleep and awake, dimly aware of a sharp pain in his hip and movement at his feet. He rolled forward slighty and met a solid mass. His eyes blinked sleepily open and were met by an expanse of skin, a silvery strap and bushy vines of soft curls, all lit by pale blue early morning light. Granger. He was tangled up with Granger, legs and arms and she was rubbing her bare foot against his, and damn it, the bookworm felt kind of…good. He closed his eyes again, too tired and heavy feeling to do anything else, and remembered the dangerous path he'd tread the night before. His cock twitched. Apparently, it remembered too.

Nothing really happened. He could still get out of this. He could feel her breathing deeply and she was snoring lightly. She was still asleep. And for the most part, so was he. He just had to move his hand and unravel his leg from between hers. How the hell did he get so twisted? Draco smirked groggily to himself at the question.

Her round little ass was snug against his growing erection and he could feel the heat from her bare back through his thin shirt. He had time. He just lay there feeling her small form snuggled against him. He had the urge to grind his pelvis into her. Her skin was so close to his lips, again. He could feel his breath echoing off her shoulder. He wanted to put his mouth on her.

Even in his sleep-addled state he knew it was a bad idea. He knew it as well as he knew his name. And he knew he was going to do it. Without opening his eyes, he tilted his head forward. With his lips parted slightly, he dragged them sideways, very slowly, barely touching, over the curve of her shoulder and back. He repeated the blissful motion, experiencing the silkiness there, over and over again until his lips tingled. Then his mouth opened more, then closed just a little, still with only his lips, moving in an imitation of a kiss. His mind was delightfully silent. She was forbidden fruit. Illegal. Unthinkable to the degree that she never even existed in the world of possibilities. And this taboo drove him further. Slowly, tentatively, he nudged just the tip of his tongue out to taste her. He groaned internally. She was warm and silky and her taste was wholly her own.

Little licks. Little kitten licks, and, oh my God, he was closing his mouth on her, drawing in the skin gently. Hermione kept her eyes closed while her mind raced and she tried to stay perfectly still. How was this happening? How was Draco Malfoy kissing her shoulder? Maybe he was still asleep and thought she was someone else? Yes, that had to be…Oh god…It was so slow, so languid, and so intense she thought he might burn a hole through her with his tongue. His hand curved over her bead-sheathed hip and he pulled her against him, grinding into her. Her rate sped up and she fought hard to control her breathing. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

He scraped his teeth lightly over her shoulder. God, he wanted to bite her. To sink down into her flesh. No. This had to stop. Fuck! He stopped abruptly, his mouth open on her, teeth just barely sunk into her skin. Fuck! _Fuck!_

He groaned and rested his forehead against the small shoulder he had just attacked. He let out a heavy sigh. She hadn't moved and was still breathing deeply. Draco lay there for many long minutes, his forehead on her shoulder and willing his erection down. He cursed himself for his stupidity, for walking this treacherous path. But her body was still warm and soft and his mind slowed it's whirling and finally, finally his drowsiness returned and the thousand and one recriminations slipped away as he drifted into sleep again.

Hermione was immobilized with confusion. What was going on? Was that like sleepwalking? Does Malfoy sleepkiss? Would 'sleepkiss' be one word or two? Hyphenated? What was she thinking? What on earth made her think that getting drunk with _Malfoy!!_ was a good idea? Her hand came up to grip her forehead again. What made her think that getting drunk was a good idea at all? Judging by the blue light bathing the room, it was still very early. Too early. God damn fuck shit, her head hurt! Liberated indeed! Sleep it off. She just need a little more sleep and then she could deal with this other dimension she must have fallen into.

She was doing it again. Rubbing the soles of her cold little feet on the tops of his and alternately trying to bury them beneath his calves. The sunlight filtering through his eyelids suggested that perhaps it really was past time to untangle himself from the Head Girl. He sat up, pulling the blanket with him and rested his elbows on his bent knees and his head in his hands. Just a touch of a hangover. He'd had worse, but it still wasn't pleasant.

The loss of heat sent a shiver down her bare back and brought Hermione into the land of the living once again. Draco was still sitting beside her in the space between her and the couch. She was at a loss for how to handle this situation so she sat up, grateful to find that her head didn't hurt nearly as bad. It was more of a dull ache now. She wondered what time it was.

"Granger, if you are going to go into a snit, at least use some of your new language skills so I know all my hard work went to good use."

For reasons unknown to either of them, Hermione found this greeting hilarious and suddenly burst into laughter. Draco looked at her like she had lemons sprouting from her ears. Just as suddenly, she stopped laughing and grabbed her head. Oooh, Headache not gone – duly noted.

"Alright there Granger?" Hmmm, didn't know he cared. A groan was her reply. Draco stood up and stretched. Hermione kept her head down, determined not to look at him and his stupid, ugly, perfect body. Ignoring his own headache, Draco decided a quick exit was probably the best course of action and he dropped into the armchair to put his boots on.

He loved his boots more than any other piece of clothing he owned, and that was saying something. They were unlike any shoes he had seen on anyone else and he relished that fact. The summer after his Father had been sent to Azkaban, his mother took him to a small wizarding village on the south side of the Liguarian Apennines in Northern Italy. It was exclusive, private and rested on a cliff high above the sea. There he had come across a leather worker who made boots by forming the soft leather directly on your foot and calves. They fit him perfectly.

Hermione was still staring at the floor rubbing her temples. Draco buttoned his jacket and smoothed his hand through his hair and looked down at the rumpled girl. Her curls had escaped the neat twist and exploded around her head. The proportion of hair to body made her look even smaller than usual, and the bedraggled mess made Draco think of sex. Right. He was leaving. Now.

"I've got Quidditch in a bit." He wondered why he was telling her this, shook his head and started walking to the door. "Hey Princess…go find Thomas. He'll have something for your head."

Hermione looked up, mouth open and stared at the door as it snapped shut.

The cold autumn wind made Draco's face prickle as he hurtled towards the ground. The sandy floor of the pitch zoomed towards him and he drew his body in closer to pick up more speed.

Flying is sublime ecstasy.

He raced his disturbing thoughts of the prim know-it-all. He would out fly her and leave her suspended 30 meters in the air. The ground approached and Draco concentrated hard on the wood in his hands. His thighs tightened and he set his mouth in a firm line. Closer. Not yet. Wait. Almost. Almost….NOW! Draco pulled up hard and felt the broom shaking and straining under him. His arms ached with the effort to keep it steady as he leveled out two feet above the yellow earth.

He rolled off his broom and collapsed in the cold sand, breathing impossibly hard and staring up at the wide pale sky thinking of absolutely nothing.

Dean did have help for Hermione and he, thankfully, didn't ask any questions. Hermione gulped the potion down in one go and felt instant relief. Breakfast was long over and lunch was still a couple hours away. Even with the headache gone she wasn't sure she could eat anyway. She lifted her full bag onto her shoulder and headed for the library where she planned to hide as long as possible, and hopefully to forget.

All her coursework was completed already and she'd finished reading each of her textbooks early in the term, which left her with studying for NEWTs or working on independent projects. Her puffpinks were currently curing in a brine solution that would isolate the compound she needed for her potion experiment. So, that left NEWTs.

Two pages into translating a section from _Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms 8, Lost Texts_ Hermione's mind began to wander. She stared at her parchment unseeingly and absently chewed on her quill. The words she was trying to forget floated back into her head. Worse than the words though was the memory of Malfoy's breath fanning over the shell of her ear and the odd sensation of having his face so close to hers. And the heat that shot through her at his rough commands. She looked around the library hoping no one could see the flush burning her face and neck.

It was a Saturday after a dance, of course she was alone. Unfortunately this knowledge made her mind think it was okay to relive the memory in detail. She slammed her book shut in frustration and rolled up her parchment and stuffed them in her bag hastily.

Hermione stomped out of the library, completely annoyed at her own mind's determination to go against her will, and headed straight for her room. She rounded the corner and nearly knocked over a fourth year Hufflepuff whose name she didn't know. The interruption in her goal made her annoyance spike and she docked him five points for having his shirt untucked. The poor kid didn't even have time to point out that it was the weekend before she stalked away in a huff.

The heavy book bag was dropped as soon as her door closed and she kicked her shoes off, flinging the right into the corner. Her jeans and sweater were off in moments, replaced by her favorite pink polka dot tank and shorts pj set. She flung herself on her bed face down. Maybe she could sleep the memory away. Time makes you forget, right? If she slept for a few hours, she'd be that much closer to forgetting. Good plan.

She rolled onto her back and pushed her mop behind her right ear. Sleep remained elusive and she guessed it was because she'd been asleep less than fours ago. Asleep with Malfoy. She groaned out loud. She could almost still feel his teeth on her shoulder and just the thought of it made her nipples harden into tight peaks. Her hand came down to lightly brush her breast and hopefully relieve the itch there. The tips were incredibly sensitive and she brushed her palm over them again and moaned. She could feel Malfoy's breath on her neck again and imagined him _licking_ a long, slow swath up her neck to her ear where he whispered those indecent words to her. Her left hand came up and her fingers delicately rolled her nipples through her tank top. Malfoy was _llliiiiick_ing down her chest, around her areolas, teasing her. She pushed the fabric up over her full breasts and palmed them eagerly. She imagined his hot, _wet_ mouth surrounding her, pulling on her the way her fingers were.

Her breathing came faster as she pressed the mounds together before pulling on her tender nipples again. She pinched, imagining his teeth on her, and her hips writhed on her bed. His tongue left _wet_ trails that followed her hand down past her navel. Her fingers gently stroked along the slit of her _wet_ sex. It was the tip of his tongue there, slowly prying her open, nudging forward gradually as her fingers breached her folds. Her hips jerked as he flicked over her clit once and then sank into her. She was hot and slick and her fingers spread open her sex. She imagined little _sucking_ kisses on the insides of her thighs, on her swollen lips. Malfoy _sucked_ at her opening as his tongue speared her as far as her fingers would allow.

Her other hand abandoned her sore nipple and stroked lightly over her clit as his tongue thrust into her. Her two fingers pushed in and pulled out of the hot _sucking_ tunnel faster and she imagined he was _fucking_ her. She rubbed her nub harder and he plunged in faster. She needed more of him and added a third finger. He was _fucking _her hard, his cock coated in her juices, slamming into her over and over again. Her fingers flew over her nub as she felt the urgency coil in her abused _pussy._ She could hear him saying it over and over in her head. _'Pussy. Pussy. Come on, Granger, Say it!'_ he commanded. He made her say it. She whispered it out loud and he attacked her clit in reward. She gyrated against her hand shoved up inside her, against his hard cock. He cupped her _knee_ in his hand and blew over the wetness. His mouth was on her _knee_ as it had been on her shoulder, tasting it, biting it hard and she was curling up to her orgasm. She was begging him for release, to push her over the edge. His icy silver eyes were glittering hard and demanding and she pleaded with him, "Please!" she cried out as she surged over the cliff and her climax crashed over her. _Please._

Her curls clung to her sweaty face and she wiped her hand on her thigh before tugging her tank top down, too tired, too sated, to even reach for her wand. She could take another shower later. Her body thrummed in the aftermath as she coasted into sleep.

Forgetting was phenomenal.


	12. Just a smile

Vincent Crabbe bounded through the heavy doors to the Main Hall with such force that almost the entire hall swiveled their heads toward the noise. Moments later the rest of a very gloomy, very lackluster, and very worn-out looking, Slytherin Quidditch team followed.

Draco had made their first practice of the season so punishing that most of them were questioning if they even liked Quidditch, and none of them had any plans to so much as look at their coach anytime soon. Draco couldn't have cared less. It had been exactly what he needed. His muscles ached and his mind was clear. In his head, he was busy evaluating his team's weak spots and forming a plan.

He slipped gracefully into his usual spot and made quick work of his juice. He poured himself another, took a sip before setting it down and looked up casually. His eyes quickly scanned the hall, noting the absence of Hagrid, Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall from the Head Table, and that the Hufflepuffs were more boisterous than usual. Hufflepuffs, being the timid little angles they are, were not as likely as the rest to wake up with hangovers. His gaze flicked to a particular spot at the Gryffindor table and that's when it happened.

Potter was turned away, talking to his new Weaselette, when Granger lifted her goblet and took a sip. She put her juice down and looked up, right at him, and smiled. It was natural, easy and warm.

Just a smile.

Draco blinked. It was over so fast, he wasn't even really sure it happened at all. Potter said something to her and she tuned to him as if nothing had happened. Draco blinked again and was grateful for his learned ability to hide his reactions behind a blank expression.

When the feast appeared, Draco filled his plate numbly. His mind was whirling in circles. Why had she done that? Did she even know she had? What did she mean by it? Why the fuck did he care? Damn it!

With his meal only half eaten, Draco left the Great Hall, brows drawn in an aggravated scowl. All his efforts, his aching muscles, his pissed-off team, his scuffed uniform were wasted in one moment by a stupid fucking smile.

A pair of curious green eyes followed him out.

In contrast, Hermione had forgotten about it. Well, maybe not forgotten, but she had taken a rather logical position on the whole thing and was no longer bothered in the least. Her stupendous orgasm earlier may have had a lot to do with her currently pleasant state of mind.

She and Draco had actually talked, helped by Firewhiskey, of course. And not about school work, head duties, or her inferior bloodline or her best friends. Well, a little about that last bit, as it _was,_ after all, the catalyst that started Hermione on her quest to forget about her changing friendships via a drunken stupor. Really, the whole thing had been kind of enlightening. A rare glimpse into the mysterious workings of Malfoy's mind. It was…intriguing, or something.

And she would not deny that the evening had taken an unexpected turn. An unbelievably sexy turn that made her flush each time she thought of it. And she _wanted_ to think about it, which made her flush more. Not to mention it had resulted in some great wanking material. She suspected that Malfoy was initially doing it to make her uncomfortable, and she sort of had been, considering she was getting enormously turned on by the snarky bastard. Probably a new form of torment he had planned to add to his list of ways to get to her. But, he had been affected too. She knew it, and that fact made her feel a little…I don't know what.

So, fine. Malfoy was a sexy as hell stuck up brat that apparently knew something about erm…sensuality? That was hardly a new idea. It was merely interesting that the rumors about him might actually be true.

And then there was that whole "sleeping together" thing. She was sure that would be taken to the grave before either of them mentioned _that._ She could just ignore that. Really, it was no big deal. It's not like anything had happened. Mostly.

The hangover potion tip was nice of him.

"Mione," Harry startled her out her thoughts. "Did you notice that Hagrid isn't here? Ron and I were thinking of going to visit him after dinner. Come with?"

"Sure Harry." Hermione said brightly.

After dinner, it seemed as if Ginny and Lavender, particularly the latter, were intent on joining the old friends, but in a stroke of brilliance that Hermione would be eternally grateful for, Harry convinced the girls to wait for them in the common room. She really needed some alone time with her best friends.

The brisk autumn wind whipped at the smiling faces of the trio as the rambled down to Hagrid's cabin, pulling their cloaks tighter around their necks. Ron was excited about Quidditch, as usual, and thankfully didn't mention his new fiancé once. Harry was a little more subdued, but seemed content. At least as content as someone could be who had a battle to the death with the darkest wizard of all time hanging over their head. It was remarkable that he was sane. Hermione basked in the happy chatter and the security of years of friendship. They would be all right, she thought.

Hagrid had interesting news. While tending the gardens, Professor Sprout discovered three dead nifflers among a patch of mandrakes. All had puncture wounds and one seemed to have been masticated and then rejected. Having come to an immediate conclusion, she rushed off to find Hagrid. Sure enough, a nest of black snakes – the exact species was uncertain – was buried just to the side of Greenhouse 1. The family was dispatched, despite Hagrid's inclination to adopt unwanted creatures such as this. Hagrid told the engrossed trio about a spell McGonagall cast using the blood of the snakes to locate other snakes on the grounds. Hagrid also explained that this was the third time since he had been a student himself that snakes like these had shown up. No one was sure why, or where they came from, but it seems that every eleven years in autumn, a small group of these deadly creatures find a home at Hogwarts. Usually they are discovered via the remains of an unlucky animal – once it was a Hippogriff, which probably lessened Hagrid's guilt in performing pest control.

Danger and intrigue at Hogwarts. Hermione felt perfectly at ease, her mind relishing the mystery of the unknown snakes and their cyclical appearance. If she didn't have NEWTS coming up, she would love to delve into solving the problem.

Hermione's hair was a wild medusa of curls and her cheeks reddened after the windy walk back, and her eyes were bright with the possibilities of a question needing to be answered when she walked into the HCR. She stopped short at seeing Malfoy bent over at his desk, writing furiously. Odd for him to be here on a Saturday night. But he didn't so much as blink to acknowledge her presence so she shrugged internally and her brain returned to the mystery at hand. She pulled down her copy of Hogwarts, A History and began scanning for any clues.

He knew he should have gone to his room, but his feet had other ideas and Draco found himself standing in the middle of their empty common room. What was he doing here? The Slytherin common room would be lively and all kinds of mischief could be found there. And surely more than one pretty witch would be more than willing to help 'ease his mind.' Trying to lure Draco Malfoy seemed to almost be a sport for Slytherin girls. He didn't mind the attention. Who doesn't love to have their ego stroked, but seeing as how he rarely succumbed, you'd think they'd give up. Draco was the hunter, not the prey.

Draco summoned Dobby and requested a few things, one of which was a mug of hot chocolate. He wasn't really sure why the house elf still obeyed him, but he wasn't about to question that perk.

Looking around the room again, Draco let out a long breath, resigned to hiding out in HCR. An awkward weight, combined with a sort of silent buzz of electricity, seemed to be lingering around his neck and he was at a loss to explain it, much less do anything about it. He pulled out his Ancient Runes book and parchment before settling at his desk for a long, quiet Saturday night.

An hour and half into his translation homework, the portrait suddenly swung open. There was only one person it could be and Draco fought hard not to raise his head. The buzz around him seemed to increase and, inexplicably, he felt like his heart had leapt into his throat. He swallowed and wrinkled his brow, confused at his body's reaction. But, it was why he had come here, wasn't it? To see her. To be… _near_ her.

To see if she would smile at him again. But, Draco kept his eyes glued to his work.

For the next four hours, they sat in silence together, both seemingly engrossed in their endeavors, shifting in their chairs occasionally, or getting up to retrieve a different book from their case. Dobby brought Hermione a cup of hot chocolate too and refilled Draco's without being asked. It was well after 1am and still Hermione didn't want to leave. It was ridiculous, she knew, staying here this late. She wasn't even studying. She stopped caring about the damn snakes an hour ago!

But the pull to stay here, with him, kept running roughshod over her reasoning and she made up excuses not to leave. It wasn't until a huge yawn forced it's way out her that she finally gave in and put her books back on the shelf. When she got to the door, she hesitated.

"Good night, Malfoy." She said quietly before she slipped out. Draco didn't look up. A loud roar of thunder rumbled through the castle then, followed closely by a bright crack of lightning. And that's when it started raining.


	13. The Slow Road

For three weeks, thick, heavy rain fell, turning everything to mud. Orange and brown leaves that had piled up to beckon jumpers and kicking boots, were now flattened into wet pulp. The house common rooms surged, full to bursting, as students holed themselves up waiting for it to end.

Hermione spent the first half of Sunday in the Gryffindor common room, reading the Daily Prophet, resisting the urge to go the HCR, and trying to enjoy the company of her friends. The confusion she felt around the enigma that was Malfoy left her both wanting to poke and prod at it until she had some answers, and conversely, made her want to hide. Which is what she was currently doing. Lavender parked her backside on Ron's lap while he and Harry played chess. Hermione sighed. She would have to get over her dislike of Lavender. It looked like she was here to stay and she wouldn't loose her friend over a girl. She just wasn't sure how she was going to bridge that gap. Parvati and Lavender broke out in a fit of giggles and Hermione made up her mind.

"I'm going to go study." She said as she stood up. Harry and Ron both groaned.

"Do you ever not study? The library might be ready for some new company." Ron snickered and Harry tried not to.

Hermione bristled and towered over him. "For your information, Ronald, I'm not going to the library. And if you think it's so in need of new company, maybe YOU should pay it a visit! The last time you were there was the night before OWLS and I think your brain cells might be atrophied!"

Lavender, Parvati, Ron stared open mouthed as she stomped out the door. Harry just sighed.

Draco was hiding too. Since the beginning of the term, since _it_ happened, his friends felt like strangers. They tried his patience. And their inane topics of conversation and petty bullying held no interest for him. He just wanted to focus on his grades and scores, because who knows what the future would hold – especially now, especially for him – and he wanted to be in the best position possible. In less than seven months he would leave Hogwarts forever. He no longer cared about being the Slytherin Prince. He'd worked hard enough to achieve the title, and now he could just enjoy it however he wanted. And he just wanted to be alone. To be quiet.

And he wanted to fly. He _needed_ to fly. Draco stared out the rain-streaked window at the expanse of gray. A wicked voice in his head told him he should schedule Quidditch practice anyway. But it was not to be. The Headmaster himself had banned flying during the storm. Too much electricity in the air. Dangerous.

So he was in the HCR. Again. He flicked his wand at the fireplace and sat at his desk, pulling out the translations he was working on for Ancient Runes; currently warring with Arithmancy for the title of "favorite class". Ten minutes later, Granger stomped in and threw her bag down.

Draco's heart skipped. She was fired up about something and her eyes were sparkling. It was a familiar look. One that had been for him so many, many times in the past. He watched her punish a book by throwing it on the desk and harshly flipping to her desired spot, fuming silently.

But at least she was here. He turned back to his translations and quickly got absorbed in the task at hand. There was something oddly satisfying about studying with her. Well, not _with_ her, but near her while she studied also.

Still, he'd rather be flying.

The rain was unrelenting and constant, and soon, it's beating against the common room windows was as familiar as the crackling of the fireplace, the scratching of quills, the occasional sigh, the squeaks from Draco's chair, and the comfortable silence that filled the room.

That's how it began. The slow road. That first night when they'd said nothing for hours. The day she smiled.

And then on Sunday. And Monday.

When Draco checked his cubby on Tuesday morning he found only one note.

_Do you think you could keep it down? I'm trying to study._

_- Hermione_

Draco smiled widely and scratched out a reply underneath her message, which Hermione found just before lunch.

_What's wrong, Princess? Does my page turning threaten your pure ears? _

_DM_

She flushed darkly, glad she was alone, remembering just how truly he _had_ threatened the purity of her ears. Devious bastard!

_Hardly. I've been liberated, remember?_

_- Hermione_

Anticipation found Draco making his way to the HCR earlier than usual that night, and he almost dropped his hot chocolate when he pulled the note out. Her boldness was to be expected, as was a smart-mouthed response, but the return of his innuendo left Draco staring at the note dumbly. He stuffed it in his pocket and buried himself behind his potions book. Wasn't he supposed to be the one flustering her?

It was after 8pm when Hermione walked into the HCR that night with a small smirk on her face. She didn't dare check her cubby with him in the room, so she promptly got to work.

By Wednesday the lightning and thunder had stopped and a few brave students ventured outside, only to return soaked and slicked with mud not long after. Hermione wondered about Malfoy's constant presence in the HCR. He didn't talk to her, and really, she hadn't tried to talk to him. It was comfortable. She wondered if they _were_ becoming friends. She wondered if _he_ thought they were becoming friends.

Stretching in her chair, she decided she needed a small break and walked into the kitchenette thinking a cup of tea would do her nicely. She opened the cupboard and pulled out a mug, but then stopped suddenly and opened the cupboard again. It was full of mugs. And glasses! The last time she had looked, the cupboards were bare. The last time had been when… when… Her mouth hung open as she blinked, holding the mug in the air.

Draco's mouth twitched as he struggled to hold in his smile, and holding very still, he trained his eyes on his book. When she turned to him, he raised his eyes and held her shocked gaze. They stayed there, with their eyes locked until a friendly smirk finally broke free on Draco's face. Hermione beamed a wide smile at him before turning back to make her tea.

Draco felt like he was floating.

On Thursday, the flying ban was lifted and Draco wasted no time getting his team in the air. Hermione watched from the splattered window, little shapes zooming about the pitch, one hovering a little a higher and then zipping down to this player and that player. The common room felt cold.

Once the sky turned too dark to see the bludgers, Draco let his team go. He showered in the changing rooms and convinced himself that even though it was getting late, he really needed to get started on that essay for Snape.

Hermione was curled up on the couch, absorbed in some classic muggle literature, when Draco came in. He nodded hello to her and dropped his Quidditch bag on the floor as he thumbed through the notes in his cubby.

She stared at him over the top of her book. His cheeks were pink and his blonde hair was wet and slicked back showing the widow's peak she hadn't seen in a long time. She could smell his soap. Her stomach flip-flopped and she sunk into the cushions behind her book before he saw her…discomfort.

Friday's prefect meeting went smoothly, with everyone a little too excited by talk of rounds and house points. Cabin fever was setting in. But Hermione was perfectly happy, and she curled up on the couch with her book as soon as the last prefect left.

It was still raining and Draco stayed.


	14. Migration

**A/N: Previously this chapter contained BOTH chapter 14 and 15. Then, when I added chapter 15, it was up twice. It's all good now. Enjoy!**

Hermione kicked her legs lazily in the air as she lay on Ginny's bed Saturday morning. Ginny clearly had something on her mind that she needed to get out. Hermione was pretty certain she could guess the subject and helped her along…

"How've things been going with Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Really good, actually. Um, that's sort of, um, what I wanted to talk to you about." Uh huh, thought so. Ginny's face was steadily getting pinker, hiding the freckles on her nose. She looked around the empty room as if to make sure that it was still empty and then just came out with it. "I think I might want to…you know…um, do it with him."

"Really? Wow, Gin…that's pretty fast isn't it?" Hermione hadn't _quite_ been expecting that.

"Well, not today! But, I mean, maybe before he graduates." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She knew Harry pretty well and knew he was more on the conservative end of the spectrum. With his life, and all the people he'd lost, he was careful with his affections. And while Hermione suspected he was head over heels for Ginny, they'd only been "official" for about a week. That was a little soon.

"What's got you thinking about this?" she asked trying to understand.

Ginny turned a deeper shade of pink and looked at her hands. "A bunch of things, really. The war. I know we don't know for sure what's going to happen, but I can't help thinking that as soon as Harry leaves here, he going to go looking for Voldemort or something. To try and end it. And, I don't know, I mean, I've loved him forever, and now that we're together, I just, sometimes I feel like my guts are just going to…to.. explode!" She threw her arms up to demonstrate.

"And, I just don't want to, maybe, lose him and never know what that's like with him!" Hermione gasped. It was an unspoken, and very strict, rule to never suggest that Harry might not win.

"Hermione, I can't pretend that it's not a possibility. Anyway, I just want to give that to him. And who knows, maybe it will help. And, God, Mione, I love him so much!" Hermione was reminded of her sex and love philosophy that she'd spouted to Malfoy only last week. She didn't think Ginny would care to hear it.

"Don't you ever, you know, think about it?" Ginny asked quietly. Hermione thought of her fantasy a week ago. Who was she kidding? There had been many repeat performances of that particular scenario in the space of just one week.

Had it really been only a week?

Her near-fatal snake bite and subsequent rescue via Malfoy.

Ron's engagement and getting drunk with Malfoy.

Following commands to repeat naughty words that Malfoy whispered in her ear.

Waking up in the iron tug of Malfoy.

Her shoulder being licked, kissed and bit by Malfoy.

Wanking to fantasies of Malfoy.

Spending _hours,_ silently, in the HCR with Malfoy.

Spending the last _eight!_ nights alone with Malfoy.

Malfoy! Malfoy! Malfoy!

Maybe she needed to spend some time away from the HCR for a while.

"Of course, I think about it." She answered, treading carefully. Hermione may know a lot about many things, but sex was not on the list. Yet. She knew most girls dreamed of happily ever after, and love at first sight, and true love, and "the one", but she wasn't one of them. Ginny, she suspected, was. "I know everyone thinks I'm a prude, but I'm not afraid to have sex, or anything, I'm not holding out for my wedding night…I just don't know who I'd want to do that with. You've got Harry, so naturally, you'd think of him."

Ginny got a mischievous grin on her face. "Mione, you know there are a lot of guys here who have a thing for you. How come you never go out with any of them?"

A dark blur whizzed past the dorm window making both girls turn their heads. Hermione climbed off the bed and went over to the watery window. The Quidditch captains were all making up for lost time despite the rain. Slytherin had the pitch at the moment. In another hour, Ginny would be out there with Harry and the Gryffindor team. She spotted Draco facing towards the castle, hovering near the goal posts. She let out a resigned sigh.

"Oh Gin, I don't know. None of them interest me." She leaned on the window frame, weary of this topic her friends kept bringing up, and watched Draco. "Can you honestly see me trying to have a real conversation with Terry or, God, Seamus, or that simpering Hufflepuff?" She grimaced and then looked back at Ginny.

"Can _you_ imagine _your_ first time with one them? I bet the lot of them are virgins too. I think I might want someone experienced…" Hermione halted realizing Ginny could take that as an insult towards Harry, who was decidedly _not_ experienced. Not as far as she knew anyway.

Ginny didn't seem to notice though, and grinned wickedly. "Well, you do have the Slytherin Sex God at your disposal. You can't get much more experienced then that! You could be part of his tutoring program." She giggled.

"Ginny!" Hermione squealed and reached for a pillow to smack her with. The girls fell into a fit of laughter and flying pillows.

Sunday afternoon was as soggy as the day before. It felt like the grayness was blurring the days of the week together. Draco held practice right after breakfast and the team grumbled unhappily. Even Draco was a little sorry for it as his muscles ached and he was utterly exhausted. He climbed into his bath, closed his eyes and thought about Harry Potter.

After practice the day before, Draco was lost in thought, trying to devise a scheme to help Goyle learn to better anticipate where he needed to be, when he almost ran over Potter where the Gryffindor team was waiting to take the pitch.

"Malfoy." Potter nodded to him in greeting. Draco was caught off guard, which he loathed, and examined the black haired captain. Potter raised his brows slightly under the obvious scrutiny and gave Malfoy a small smile. "Your team seems to be shaping up nicely. Sanders was a good addition."

It was true. The fifth year Slytherin girl was a brilliant keeper. Draco made an odd face. "Yeah. Thanks." He said, pushing the words out as if they might turn around and bite his nose. He quickly walked away, feeling like the ground had just titled sideways.

Then, this morning, at breakfast, he could feel eyes on him and looked up to see Potter staring at him intensely, his brows drawn in a giant question mark.

Draco ordered up some Epsom salts to help ease his muscles. He knew what he had to do. What he wanted to do. He just wasn't sure he could. He'd known for two years now, that he was unequivocally against the dark. But to say that _he,_ a Malfoy, was with the light, _with Potter,_ well, that was another matter. Most people assumed he already had the Dark Mark, though it wasn't something anyone talked about. Not even the sons and daughters of Death Eaters talked about it. He had managed to be ambiguous about it all this time, but it felt like his time had run out.

After lunch on Sunday Draco found Granger on the couch with her legs tucked under her, nose in a book. He set his bag by the comfy chair and summoned Dobby for a hot chocolate before dropping into the squashy leather.

On Monday Hermione studied on the couch and Draco moved to the chair as soon as his Potions essay was completed.

Tuesday the desks were abandoned altogether.

Wednesday morning Ron convinced Hermione to hang out with them in the Gryffindor common room that evening, stating that he missed his bookworm friend and was getting jealous of her books. Hermione was touched by the sentiment that was groggily backed up by Harry and enthusiastically seconded by Ginny _and_ Lavender, and she readily agreed.

Thursday, Draco scowled at her occasionally from his chair when she wasn't looking. His mood went perfectly with the weather.

The winter holiday was still a fair way off, but as everything else was practically running itself and there was little else to discuss, a poll was taken at Friday's prefect meeting to determine which prefects would be staying at Hogwarts and who would be going home. It was a very short meeting.

Draco was over his little snit from the evening before, and he and Hermione sat comfortably reading late into the night. Hermione's mind wandered and her book was forgotten, laying open in her lap as she stared into the fire. She wanted to ask Draco why he was here every night with her. She knew how popular he was in his own house and wondered if they were missing him. If they asked him. But, she was also afraid to break the spell. If she brought it up, would he stop coming every night just to prove her wrong? So, she asked a safer question. "Safer" was debatable.

"Malfoy…"

"Hmmm?" he responded without looking up from his paperback.

"Are you going home for the holiday?"

He looked up then and let his hand and the book drop into his lap. His clear grey eyes stared hard at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Hermione started to think that breaking the spell might be have been safer after all.

"No." he finally said in a tone that suggested this was a closed topic and lifted his book back up to his face.

Now it was Hermione's turn to stare, for her, at the jacket of his book. A tiny line formed between her brows and she pursed her lips slightly. In her mind, she was running through a litany of questions she was dying to ask him, rewording and reorganizing them over and over, rapidly trying to figure out how to phrase even one so that he wouldn't retreat.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that just yet." His voice from behind his book, was quiet and somber.

Hermione's stomach flipped at the opening he was giving her. Her heart rate might have sped up just a little. "Do you think you will ever go back?"

The paperback was tossed onto the floor near his bag as Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his hands over his face. Was he really going to have this conversation? Now? With her?

"Yes. Eventually. The Manor belongs to me now and I've been doing what I can to make sure it's well tended. The Malfoys have not always been the most…" he searched for the right word, "honorable of people, but there is a lot of history at Malfoy Manor. Wizarding history. Too much to forget about. And there has been some good done too, though I doubt many bother to remember that." Draco looked off into the fire here, lost in some thought or maybe a memory.

It was a little strange to hear Malfoy, of all people, talk about honor. And the Malfoys' honor, at that, or lack there of. Hermione thought she should maybe say something in reply, but couldn't think of anything appropriate, or accurate anymore, so she just watched him openly and waited. After a while, he sighed and turned back to her.

"My mother loved to sit in the conservatory. It was full of plants she picked up traveling after my father went to Azkaban. She loved plants. And flowers." He trailed off.

"She must have been great at Herbology when she was at school." Hermione offered.

"She was alright. I think her love of plants came later. But she was brilliant at potions. She could have given Snape a run for his money. They knew each other, you know."

"I didn't. From school?"

"From my father. Snape would come over, and he and my mum would get into long debates over some potion and ignore everyone else." Draco gave a half grin and a small chuckle. "Pissed my dad off to no end." He had enjoyed those times.

Hermione smiled in response to Draco's smile.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Going home Granger. Keep up." Draco quirked an eyebrow and his mouth looked like it might smirk. She flushed a little.

"No."


	15. Proximity

**A/N: Previously Chapter 14 contained BOTH chapter 14 and 15. Then, when I added chapter 15, it was up twice. It's all good now. If you've already read this, go on to the next chapter. Enjoy!**

Hermione trailed one slender finger down the cold glass of the window in the common room. Harry, Ginny and Ron had practice and Lavender went to watch armed with a mediocre impervious charm that might keep her dry for all of fifteen minutes.

Hermione squinted and her refocused her vision, blurring the Quidditch pitch and bringing the clear grey splatters and streaks into sharp relief. Her head was starting to hurt. Arithmancy was getting to her. She couldn't seem to focus on it long enough to grasp the new theorem, much less apply it to the current assignment. She refocused her eyes again, trying to pick out the different players by the way they flew.

Ron stayed in a tightly defined area but flew erratically within it. Ginny was a rocket, streamlined and exuding power. Demelza flew in swooping arcs that made Hermione's stomach turn. She could pick out Dean simply because of his darker skin, despite the distance. The two beaters alternated between looking like mirror images of each other, and looking completely opposite of each other – complementary. And Harry, who looked like he was having a grand time, Harry's flying was without description. No one flew like Harry.

It was Monday evening, just after dinner, and Hermione was both anxious and exhausted. Her inability to concentrate, and her determination to do just that, was wearing her down. Classes had been rough. Even the professors were more morose and edgy than usual thanks to the interminable rain. Being stuck inside was one thing, but being stuck inside with everyone else was another thing entirely.

The Quidditch players were the only people who ventured out into the downpour and when they came back, they were all bedraggled and sullen. Well, maybe all except Harry. And maybe Malfoy.

He would show up soon. Hermione was expecting him, and that bothered her, but she put it out of her mind in favor or contemplating their last conversation. Their _first_ conversation. The firewhiskey fiasco couldn't be counted in Hermione's mind, since it was aided heavily by alcohol.

Hermione focused on the wet pane of glass and the background slipped into a fuzzy mash of grayed colors, reflected in each fat raindrop like little upside down worlds. Like her world.

The more she thought about Malfoy, the more upside down her world became. He was nothing like she expected. There had been a marked change in him in fifth year, but even without the word 'mudblood' spewing out, the animosity had still radiated off him. It just moved underground, which in many ways, was worse. It was easier when she knew what he was thinking – he had always been so eager to tell her – and she could throw it back in his face. But with the silent treatment, she had to imagine what he was thinking. And she had a _great_ imagination.

And now… Since that strange day in the forest he was even more changed. Quieter, more intent. He was working towards something and Hermione wondered what.

She found herself reevaluating everything she had thought about Malfoy. It was clear now that he was not evil, as she'd once thought. No, she didn't think he was going to run out and challenge Voldemort to a fight, but she'd drop out of Hogwarts before he joined the Death Eaters. Had that been one of the changes in him, or had it always been that way?

Hermione shook her head in physical agreement with her thoughts, and then leaned her hot forehead on the glass and closed her eyes. Ahhh, that's nice…

The soft thunk of the door announced Malfoy's entrance, followed by the heavier thunk of his book bag on the floor by the chair, and then the rustle of robes being removed.

"Not thinking of jumping, are you Granger?" came his low amused voice. With her forehead still pressed against the window, she smiled to herself before turning around to face the blonde, silver-eyed man who had set up shop in her mind.

"Would you save me I did Malfoy?" she returned with a cheeky grin.

Draco raised a brow and the corner of his mouth tugged to the side. He liked this smart-mouthed version of her. It was much better than the scowls and cutting assessment of his character. "I think I've proven myself in that scenario already, don't you think?"

She sighed, "Yes, I suppose you have. _My hero!_" she flapped her small hand to heart. Draco narrowed his eyes at her disapprovingly and then bent to extract his homework.

Hermione moved back to the couch and tugged her book heavily onto her lap. She cradled her temples between her fingers and rubbed in small circles.

"I just don't get this!" She said tiredly.

"What? The bookworm is flummoxed by a teensy little theorem? Let me mark my calendar!" he teased, standing over her, looking at the page she was turned to.

"Shut up, Malfoy." She said, craning her neck to look at him. "You are every bit as much of a bookworm as I am, Malfoy, and I've seen it with my own eyes, so don't bother denying it."

"Shush Granger, you don't want to blow my cover now do you?"

"Your cover? I wouldn't worry, Malfoy, everyone already knows you're a wanker."

"Language, Granger! Language!"

She turned big, wide, innocent amber eyes on him, "But, Malfoy…I thought you wanted me to use my new language skills?" Her lips twitched trying to maintain her pseudo-earnestness.

"So I do, Granger. So I do." He said more to himself than her and an odd moment stretched out between them. Draco tried to cover the awkwardness and threw his book at the other end of the couch before sitting next to her and pulling her book from her lap.

"Okay, did you understand this first part?" he pointed at the top of the page…

Draco handed the book back to Hermione and bent over to remove his boots while he explained the theorem. He had to try three different approaches, but he was pretty sure that by the end, she got it. It was refreshing to see the know-it-all who had beat him in every subject _forever_ struggle with a concept that he had easily understood. It made him think that maybe he wasn't entirely second best to her. He watched her begin to work the problem they had been assigned and, seeing she was off to good start, twisted to grab his Advanced Transfigurations book and scooted into the opposite corner of the couch.

Two hours later they had each switched to different assignments, and different books, and sat facing each other, knees up and feet pointed at the other, deep in concentration on their respective subjects.

Hermione bent to grab her Potions book and her right, stocking-foot slipped, nudging against Malfoy's for a moment only, before she pulled it back so quickly you'd think she'd been burned. Draco looked up at her and her blush was evident.

"Sorry." She said hastily, keeping her eyes cast down on her book.

Draco's eyes were trained on her pinkened face, "Afraid you might get pureblood germs Granger?" he said, referencing her teasing when he drank out of the same firewhiskey bottle as her.

Her eyes shot up to his, relief written on her face. Despite their banter earlier, she still felt sort of nervous around him. Like at any moment he was going to turn on her. "Hardly."

Draco's mouth pursed and before she knew what was happening, he clamped one foot over the top of hers and dug the toes of the other underneath her foot and wiggled them. She shrieked in surprise and tried to tug her foot out, wriggling her whole body in the effort.

"Malfoy!" She yelled and finally freed her foot. She quickly tucked her feet under her cross legged so they were inaccessible, pouting at him. Draco laughed at her expression, and then kept laughing until Hermione gave him a reluctant smile.

"Serves you right Granger, trying to play footsie with me." She whipped the small pillow out from behind her so fast he didn't have to time to move and it caught him in the side of the head while he continued to laugh.

"Serves _you_ right, Malfoy!" She said smugly and turned back to her book still smiling and trying to look collected.

After a few minutes, Hermione resituated herself, returning to her previous position of bent knees, though her legs were drawn in a bit closer to her body. Her heart was beating hard against her chest and she felt extremely _aware_ of him. His mass on the couch, his clean and warm smell, the quicker rate at which he was breathing, his bright laugh. The small amount of space between their facing feet tingled on her toes as if the air was electrified. Hermione swallowed thickly and reread the sentence for the sixth time.

Harry Potter, the coming war, Quidditch, NEWTS, Malfoy Manor, and his upcoming exam in Advanced Charms were thoughts that occupied Malfoy's mind. What was _not_ on his mind was Granger. He didn't debate each night whether or not he should go to the HCR. He didn't question his motivation. He didn't wonder what his friends would think. He just went. He didn't consider the sensation of sitting next to her on a 6-foot long couch for hours each night. He didn't ponder the subtle mix of scents that surrounded her. And he definitely was not thinking about...about….about her.

Examining his ideas of the diminutive head girl with wild hair was not on Draco's agenda and it was probably this total lack of mental attention to her that was responsible for the punch in the stomach that happened on Wednesday evening, almost three weeks into the longest rain storm in thirteen years.

When Draco entered the common room after Quidditch practice Wednesday night, he frowned. Granger wasn't there. The spot on the couch he'd grown accustomed to seeing her curled up on, was empty, no book bag, no note…

The bathroom door opened suddenly and she walked out carrying a small tray, not noticing his presence. She stood with her back to him in front of her desk over her softly steaming cauldron, putting the tray aside and making a note in a small book. The enormous mass of her hair was pulled up on top of her head again – it was her "potions hair" he knew now, making it into a funny mop and exposing her slim neck. Draco's breath hitched unexpectedly as the memory of being millimeters from that neck swarmed him suddenly. He averted his gaze and that proved to be a bad idea. She almost always wore her school uniform of tie, white oxford, pleated skirt, socks and maryjanes, or sometimes, school issued black trousers and boots. The dark jeans she was wearing now stretched deliciously over her round little ass and Draco's cock twitched at the sight. They were cut low at her waist, and as she leaned over the desk, the light golden brown of her lower back was exposed. He stared at the indent of her spine peeking out from the grass green baby tee she wore, and followed it down, dipping below the waistband of her jeans. He had to stop. _Look away Draco, look away…_

He took off his cloak revealing his own favorite dark jeans and a lighter blue t-shirt. Slytherin must have endowed him with stealth, because Hermione didn't hear him. Either that, or she was really concentrating hard. He walked over to the desk and stood behind her, peering over her shoulder into the cauldron. A thick, matte, bubble gum pink liquid burbled one fat bubble. He stepped in closer behind her.

"What is that?" He asked just as she was tipping the small tray slightly over the pot. Hermione shrieked and dropped the tray into the pot as she jumped backwards, slamming into the very close, very tall, and very hard wall of body that was one Draco Malfoy.

Draco jerked his head back and narrowly avoided getting knocked in the chin by her head. She stumbled and stepped hard on his foot twice before he grabbed her by the upper arms and moved her away from him.

"Damn it, Granger!" He scowled. How was such a small person able to make his toe hurt so badly? "Fuck!"

Hermione looked at him anxiously. "Sorry" she squeaked out quietly. Two apologies in three days, not good. Then she remembered her potion. "Oh no!" she ran over to the cauldron and winced at the black, gritty sludge forming inside. She groaned and stepped aside, dropping her face into her hands. It wasn't the end of the world, but it was a lot of wasted time and effort. Thank goodness she had only used half of her supplies.

Draco stepped over the cauldron and peered inside, studying the black sandy substance. It seemed to be hardening. For the next few moments, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The odorless mixture made a small crackling noise and Draco took a step back, but not fast enough. Hermione's eyes grew wide as she realized what was about to happen with no time to stop it. In a second the substance exploded, sending hot sticky grit all over Draco. He had clumps of thick black sand in a starburst pattern on his shirt, as well as black speckles on his face and bare arms and in his hair. The look of shock on his face was one Hermione would remember forever. It was almost comical. But the look a moment later, as the grainy substance began to burn his skin was anything but funny.

"Agghhhh! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! It fucking burns! Fuck! Oh my God!" Draco cried as he began to frantically swipe the black spots off his face and arms. Hermione watched in frozen horror as the potion started to eat through his t-shirt. Oh, this was _bad_. Draco seemed to realize it at the same time she did, because a second later he was tugging the fabric over his head as fast as could. Black clumps fell from the shirt being removed into his blonde hair and onto his shoulder and neck. Hermione leapt into action and jumped forward, thinking that if it stayed on him he could get seriously burned.

"Oh my God, Malfoy! I'm so sorry! I had no idea! I'm sorry! Shit!" Hermione was fretfully apologizing. Draco's fingers were in his hair, shaking it out vigorously and alternately, brushing the debris off his face. She reached out and started swiping at any speck of black she could see.

Somewhere in her mind, in a section that was far from rational, she was cataloguing the details of the glorious architecture that was Malfoy's chest. Broad, strong shoulders set off by long straight collarbones, light golden skin, smooth hard muscles above a lightly ribbed stomach. Small rosy nipples. A dark line of dark blonde hair that ran from just below his navel down…. She swiped at a speck she saw where her eyes had led her, a couple inches above the band of his jeans.

Draco's stomach tensed under the small quick touch and his whole body went rigid. In another part of her mind that also wasn't thinking clearly, Hermione thought he might be going into shock from a burn, or maybe the potion, in all of it's failure, caused rigamortis, or maybe it had a petrifying effect. She had to get it off him now.

Draco inhaled sharply and stood stock still, forgetting his own attempts to clean himself off. His back had straightened sharply so that he seemed even taller and he started down his nose at her, eyes wide and alarmed. Her little hand was flying over his ribs and up over his chest, carelessly sweeping across his nipples sending little shocks of electricity to his cock. Either the stuff was mostly gone, or it had lost its heat, because he couldn't feel anything but that hand. Delicate, quick, light strokes. Draco did indeed feel like a petrificus had been cast on him. The unreality of Granger touching his naked chest like this seemed to have paralyzed his brain. He was breathing hard and fast and his cock strained heavily against his jeans.

The little fingers swept over the hollow just below his shoulder. Draco's body hummed. With a suddenness and speed that rivaled a snitch, Draco captured her small wrist tightly in his hand mid-swipe, and immobilized it. Hermione's eyes flew up to his as he held her palm firmly against his chest. They stood there like that, eyes locked, and her wrist surrounded by his larger hand.

The look that Malfoy's silvery eyes had locked onto hers was arresting and Hermione's stomach plummeted. She didn't even try to move her hand. She was so close to him. She could smell him. _My God,_ she was touching him. His skin. A bolt of desire unlike any she had felt before flamed through her. She wanted to hurtle forward and fuse her body to his.

Draco's eyes flicked down to her slightly parted lips and then back to her eyes. He was breathing hard through his nose, his mouth pressed in a tight line, trying to regain his footing. His expression was unreadable. Hermione thought he was angry. He looked at her lips again, for only a moment, and then closed his eyes, taking in multiple deep breaths. Hermione stared at him, unable to move or speak or think.

Finally, his grip on her wrist eased and she slowly pulled her hand away, looking down shyly. "I'm sorry. I had no idea it would do that. I mean, it probably wouldn't have if I hadn't dropped the tray in it, but I didn't hear you come in, and then I got startled and I…I'm… "

The quiet rambling continued as Malfoy slowly bent to pick up his shirt and he cast a few silent repairing charms and it was good as new. She turned to him then and her eyes went wide all over again as she stared dumbly at his still naked chest as if it was the first time she'd seen it and she hadn't just had her hands all over it. Draco slipped the shirt back over his head and pulled it down as Hermione continued muttering.

"It was just supposed to get pink and goopy and then I was supposed to let it sit for three hours, and then I was going to… but it's okay, I mean, I have more so, and then your poor shirt, and I think it's all off and you should be okay. I don't think there are any side effects when…"

"Granger," Malfoy said sharply in a kind of warning, causing Hermione to stop mid-ramble on an inhale that she held. Her amber eyes locked on his again. He had to get out of here.

And it _had_ to stop raining.


	16. I'm not your friend

Fine. He wanted her. There. He said it. But so what.

The walk back to her room did little to quiet the thoughts racing through Hermione's mind. She was at a loss to control or organize them and she let them run free as she changed out of her jeans and into her pjs.

At some point, an infinitesimally tiny speck of an idea had rooted itself in Hermione's subconscious. When had that happened exactly? That night after the Halloween Masque? Or, maybe before? Was it when he blew on her cut knee? It was even possible, if she was really truthful with herself, that it could have been before that. And as she lay in her bed with her tank top pulled up over her breasts, the roots of that idea began to grow.

It was a scary idea. Risky. And exciting.

The fantasy of Malfoy on her, _in_ her, played out in her mind. It was well rehearsed now, her imagination filling in the unknowns, and now she had a delicious bit of reality to fill the gaps. Remembering the way this skin felt as she had brushed over his chest, over his nipples, over his stomach, she ran her fingers delicately over her own chest, over her own nipples, over her own stomach and down…

The memory of her wrist clutched so tightly in his hand, with his long fingers wrapped forcefully around her, and holding her palm flat against him sent a wave of heat through her. She craved more. She wanted more. She wanted to see that look in his eyes again. Like he was going to incinerate her.

Hermione couldn't hold it against herself that she was attracted to him. Girls in every house swooned over him, though she had not been one of them. It was ridiculous the way they pined over him, hoping he'd pay attention to them, hoping he'd have a smile just for them. He never smiled. Didn't they know? She had figured he probably spread those rumors himself. But she had figured wrong and now she knew it.

Her new knowledge of him, as a sexual being, lit a fire in her. Michael, Terry, Seamus, Ron, Viktor, that Hufflepuff…none of them incited even an inkling of the desire that washed through her when she thought of Malfoy. She pressed her hand to her stomach the way he had while he slept behind her.

Maybe….

Draco was in a foul mood at Friday's prefect meeting. He barked at Padma when she asked about the Yule Ball, telling her she needed to focus on growing a backbone first.

Draco spent Thursday night in the Slytherin common room, under the pretense of showing some House pride, when he overheard a group of Slytherin fourth years bragging about being let off with just a warning when she caught them out past curfew.

The quiet Ravenclaw looked like she might cry and Hermione smiled apologetically at her. When the meeting was over, which thankfully was quickly, and all the prefects had gone, Hermione turned on Malfoy with her arms crossed over her chest.

"That was a little harsh, don't you think?" she accused without explanation.

Draco glared hard at her. "Oh, Miss Rules and Regulations wants to talk to _me_ about appropriate behavior? We can't have prefects who are afraid to take house points. It's not a welcoming committee." He shoved a roll of parchment roughly into his bag and it crunched. He walked to the door, stopping just to the side of her. He bent forward slightly and bit out through clenched teeth, "You have no right to lecture me, Princess." He leaned in a little closer to her ear, "I'm not your friend."

Hermione held her breath until the door slammed shut behind him. Anger was blazing through her body and she shook with it. Her fists were balled in tight fists at the end of rigid straight arms. She ripped a piece of parchment off the meeting notes and turned it over. She scratched out a message and stuffed the note into his cubby, hearing it crinkle.

Saturday morning invited itself into Hermione's room with bright, happy sunlight that made Hermione wince at the intrusion. Nothing is worse than sunshine when you are in sour mood. She sat up sleepily and whipped her bed curtains closed against the cheerfulness.

Harry squirmed on the bench next to Hermione. She could tell he was more excited than he was letting on. She wouldn't tell him to his face, at least not yet, but she suspected that Harry would be much happier if he chose a career in Quidditch, rather than the Auror path he planned on.

It was the first game of the year, and by some merciful god, it had stopped raining. It was still late November, however, and though the sky was bright, the air was frigid with the promise of snow. Hermione squinted at the players and scowled at one in particular.

Harry looked at Hermione's sulky face and then in the direction she was staring. Hmm. After five years of flying against the blonde menace, he had learned to read Malfoy's mood by how he was flying. He was currently darting between his players in short, quick, ungraceful bursts. It seemed that Malfoy was in similar disposition to his friend. It was going to be a short game, fast and furious, and Malfoy would take the snitch in no time.

"Hermione, is everything alright?" He asked tentatively.

"Sure Harry, of course." The reply was an automatic sort of answer and Harry wasn't buying it.

"I mean, with Malfoy. Is everything okay with him?"

Hermione sighed, seeing that it was futile to hide her mood from Harry. "We just had a fight is all. It's really not a big deal."

Harry's brows scrunched. "What about?"

"Nothing, Harry. It's not a big deal. I'm fine." She said exasperated. What would her friends say if they knew? Would they even still be her friends?

"Really, Harry. It's not a big deal." She repeated curtly.

It was obvious to Harry that she wasn't going to divulge the nature of their argument. In all the years he'd known her, the first and last time he could remember her being upset over something involving Malfoy was that first time he'd called her Mudblood. He doubted it was anything like that. Though he was reluctant to admit it, Malfoy had changed. It was perhaps a subtle to change to most people, if they saw it at all, but when your arch nemesis suddenly stops tormenting you, you notice. He was about to press her more when Ginny plopped down on the other side of him and wove her arm under his.

Hermione was glad for the distraction and she didn't even mind when Lavender and Ron sat down on the other side of her. The game was just about to start when Lavender leaned over Ron's lap towards her.

"Hermione, Millie is in the infirmary again. Got bit by the Venomous Tentacula yesterday during Herbology. Madame Pomfrey says she'll be out 'til Wednesday. Do you think you could do the last patrol with me on Tuesday night?"

Hermione fought to not roll her eyes. That girl was a walking hazard. She really wanted to say no, that she should ask the other prefects first, but then Lavender might think it was because of her. And Ron, who was sitting between them, might think so too.

"Sure. I can do it. Want to meet me at the main entrance at eleven? We can get the greenhouses out of the way and then do the inside."

"Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks, 'Mione!" It was weird to hear Lavender call her by her nickname. Was she supposed to call her "Lav" now? Maybe "Lav Lav" would be better. She groaned internally at her uncharitable thoughts and turned her eyes back to the source of her bad mood.

Hermione spent the rest of her weekend alternating between a busy library, a busier Gryffindor common room, and an empty HCR. She tried a couple of times to make eye contact with Malfoy. Once during dinner on Sunday, and once on her way out of Arithmancy on Monday. But Draco was not cooperating. As soon as she thought he knew she was looking at him, he either turned to talk to one of his Slytherin peons, or walked away.

On Monday night she went to the HCR to find it empty again. Her anger had dissipated and now she just felt disappointed. She wondered if all their progress was lost. She waited until ten thirty, rewriting her notes from the day and revising her completed essay for Snape that wasn't due for another week. Seeing that he wasn't coming, she slumped in her chair and put her head down on her desk. Maybe it was a lost cause. Maybe friendship was too much to ask for. She suddenly felt like they had been playing a game all these weeks. And she had lost.

On her way out, she looked into his cubby to see the note still crumpled in the position she had left yet. She should probably burn it.

Draco was doing great.

He hadn't so much as looked at the Head Girl in three days. He spent his evenings in his room studying, or in the Slytherin common room welcoming the attention of pretty, brainless girls who had apparently missed him while he was playing house with Granger.

He smirked lasciviously from across the room at a sixth year, Candice he thought her name was, who was smiling flirtatiously and easing her short skirt up her long leg for him. It was a nice view. Nothing like Granger. This girl was tall with long, straight blonde hair and skin that must have been glamoured. No one was that tan in November.

He was contemplating escorting her to her room later in the evening, when a body sat down next to him on the couch. "Nott fucked her last night."

Draco's expression darkened as he turned to the familiar face of an amused looking Daphne Greengrass. "Is that so? Well, damn, that thought spoils my plans." He said as if it really wasn't that much of a loss.

"Yeah, said she was a lousy lay though, so I wouldn't be too upset about it I were you." Draco liked Daphne. He really did. She could be dignified and ladylike one minute, then sharp and crass the next. He smiled tiredly at her.

"Well, that is a valuable piece of information. What do I owe you for your generosity?" He asked with one raised brow and a smirk.

She shrugged and leaned in. "Just wondering what you've been up to this past month. Don't think I haven't noticed. Not all Slytherins are doorknobs." She said with a knowing glint in her voice.

Draco looked around the room casually, both to hide the fact that his heart had sped up, and to make sure no one was listening. He turned back to the dancing eyes and licked his lips, trying to quickly come up with an excuse, something to throw her off track. She smirked at his hesitance and leaned in closer so she could whisper in his ear.

"Not all Slytherins hate Gryffindors either, Draco." She stood up before he could reply and headed towards the girls' dorms. Draco stared at her back with a closed expression. When she got to the stairs she turned and winked.

That night, Draco stepped into his bath and holding his wand, he tapped the marble and thought of oranges, and honey, and amber and vanilla, and jasmine. He leaned back against the edge, enveloped in the scent that was almost her, and thought of a little hand brushing over his chest. He grazed his nipples and tweaked them lightly, the way she might. He swept his hand over his stomach, just below his navel, where she had. He touched his hard cock gently, and trailed his fingers over it, exploring, the way he imagined she would. He groaned aloud and wrapped his hand around himself, firmly, slowly stroking down to the base and then up over the head, the way he wanted her to.

He had been fighting this with everything in him, but Daphne's cryptic comment was like the permission he needed to allow it. He could have _this._ Even he couldn't have her. Wouldn't know what to do with her if he did have her. Getting involved with Granger was a bad idea of epic proportions.

Involved. He wasn't even sure what that would mean to her. Malfoy didn't have relationships. He had sex. He liked it, he was good at it, and it was relatively trouble free. He seriously doubted Granger would, or even could, be interested in something casual. Casual sex would not be enough for her. And when had anything between them ever been casual? Even now, sitting on the couch together, night after night, was anything but causal. The air in their common room those nights was heavy with things unsaid, with the delicate balance they had found. And that he had shattered.

But more than that, he had a sneaking suspicion that casual sex with Granger would not be enough for him either. And _that_ was impossible.

His hand was tight around his cock, stroking furiously. In his mind, his hand was tight around her tiny wrist. _Making_ her touch him. He came hard with his back arched and a loud grunt and collapsed against the side of the tub. The release left his body elastic and free of the tension that had been residing with him for days. but an image that took it's place, of her on the couch, wriggling as he tickled her foot, laughing with her mouth open, brought with it a different kind of tension.

Loss. He felt like he'd lost a friend. One that he'd never even had in the first place.


	17. You're wrong

Regret. That's what Hermione felt as she stopped outside the HRC Tuesday night on her way to the Main Entrance. She reached out slowly and ran her fingers over the bumps and curls of the portrait's frame, her eyes unfocused on the uneven texture.

A failed experiment.

Lifting her chin, she took a restorative breath and continued on her way. Ron. Another failed experiment. Lavender. Maybe she could get that one right. The girl in question was waiting by the oak doors, slipping into her heavy cloak and wrapping her Gold and Scarlet scarf around her neck. She smiled brightly when she saw Hermione.

"Hi 'Mione. Ready? It's going to be freezing out there."

"Yup. Let's do it." She replied taking out her wand.

The two girls grimaced in the biting night air. At least it wasn't raining. They made their way quickly to the greenhouses, scanning the nooks half-heartedly. Any student that would endure this cold was welcome to stay here, as far as Hermione was concerned.

On the way back, Lavender thanked Hermione again for doing the patrol with her. Neville, she said, would dally around the plants no matter how cold it was – concerned for their health and well being, or course. The girls laughed at their classmate's endearing, if sometimes frustrating, qualities.

They walked up to the seventh floor, deciding to start from the top and work their way down, Lavender supplying conversation while Hermione tried to think of what she wanted to say to her best friend's fiancé.

On the fourth floor they stopped to drop their cloaks off in their rooms.

When they were shutting the last door of the classrooms on the third floor, Lavender solved the problem.

"Hermione…." Hermione's attention was sparked by the unusually serious tone of the tall girl's voice, as well as the return to using her full name.

"I'm glad you came tonight…I've been wanting to talk to you" Lavender looked sideways at her, wringing her hands.

"Me too" Hermione said quietly, looking at the ground. Lavender seemed relieved.

"It's just that, I know you're Ron's best friend, and he loves you, like…like…like his arm, or Quidditch broom." Lavender waved her arms in the air and Hermione made a funny face at the analogy. "And, well, I want you to know that I would never come between you."

"Thank you, Lavender. That mean's a lot to me." Hermione said and meant it.

Lavender's voice got softer as she timidly approached the unspoken problem, "It's just that…I know you may have once had feelings for him…" she paused and glanced at Hermione, looking for confirmation. Hermione just stared ahead of her, uncomfortable with the intimate topic of emotions.

"…and I know you and I haven't really ever been friends…and I know Ron had feelings for you…"

Hermione stopped and turned and placed her hand on Lavender's arm, "Lavender," she said reassuringly, "that was a long time ago. And it was just an idea, a very stupid idea. I'm not even sure it was our idea. Sometimes, I think it was just because everyone kept saying that someday we'd end up together. We would have ended up hating each other. And I wouldn't risk our friendship in that way. Ron is like family to me, like a brother."

Hermione paused and dropped her hand. She looked at the ground, nervousness and guilt making her shift her weight. "As for you and me, I've been rather unfair and I owe you an apology. I've never really given you a chance, and I'm sorry for that." Hermione looked up into watery hazel eyes and felt ashamed at the way she had treated her. She dropped her gaze again.

"I'm really am happy for Ron. I've never seen him so relaxed and… in _love!_ I just want him to be happy, and he is, and I am so grateful that he has you. I think, maybe, that I was a little jealous that you'd take away my friend, but that was stupid. And, maybe…you and I…we could be friends too?"

Hermione looked up in time to see a teary face rush towards her as Lavender threw her arms around her. "Oh, thank you, Hermione, thank you! I don't know what I'd do if you'd told me to fuck off! Thank you!"

"I really am sorry, Lav." Hermione said as the blonde let her go and wiped at her wet face. They walked silently, making their way through the second floor, processing the new relationship. As they started down the staircase to the first floor, a small smile quirked on Hermione's face and she glanced sideways.

"Did you really think I'd tell you fuck off?" she asked mischievously.

Lavender let out a sharp, gurgly chuckle and scrunched her eyebrows together. "I don't know. Yes? Maybe."

"It's not really my style." She informed playfully. "I'd be much more likely to cast a subtle, and untraceable, curse of some kind. Maybe an itching hex that activated when ever you got within a foot of Ron."

Lavender laughed. "I'll try to remember that. It would be just horrible to have to rub myself all over Ron to relieve the itch!" she said dramatically and then smirked at Hermione.

"Ewwwwww! Scratch that off my list of curses!"

The girls laughed and ran through a list of most harmless, but effective curses that could be used if the need ever arose.

"Hey, Brown!"

Both girls whipped around to see a tall, dark Slytherin sauntering towards them. Zabini. Hermione narrowed her eyes and fingered her wand.

"You should be in your dorm, Blaise. It's past curfew." Lavender said boldly. Oh yeah, Gryffindor.

"Calm down Brown, I'm on my way. Just came from the infirmary. Thought you might like to know that your little Patil sidekick is in there." He said, shrugging with a smug, evil smile as he walked past them and down the staircase leading to the Slytherin dorms. Hermione glared at his disappearing back. Self-satisfied prick.

When she turned back, Lavender's eyes were wide with worry. "Go ahead. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" she looked both relieved and anxious.

"Yes. Go on. I'm really okay. I doubt there are any snakes inside the castle. We're almost done anyway."

Lavender threw her arms around Hermione again and thanked her before running off in the direction of the infirmary. Hermione opened the large door to the Great Hall and stepped inside.

Lavender's long legs took her quickly through the empty halls. She was overcome with worry. She couldn't remember a single time that her best friend had been in the infirmary. Parvati never got sick, had never been injured with anything more than a paper cut. Did Padma know? Was she there already?

The thought of Padma generated an image of a gruff and mean Malfoy yelling at her. The HCR was just at the top of the stairs on the second floor. It was a shot in the dark, being so late, but on the off chance he was there she turned back, bounding through the hall and up the stairs.

She knocked hard on the frame of the portrait and waited, breathing fast. She'd only a wait a moment. She knocked again. Nothing. Oh well, it was a slim chance anyway. She turned and was three steps down the stairs when the door opened.

"Brown!" She halted and turned to a tired and aggravated looking, but still stunningly handsome, Malfoy. When she didn't explain herself right away, he raised his eyebrow. "Well?"

"I was doing patrol with Hermione – Parvati's in the infirmary – I've got to go there – Didn't want to leave Hermione alone." Came her jumbled explanation between pants.

Malfoy sighed raggedly in exasperation. "Fine. I'll take care of it."

He was still angry. Still bitter. Still confused. What was he looking for? What could he have? But he would see her. Maybe he would lecture her this time.

"Thanks!" Lavender said and turned to bounce down the stairs.

"Brown! Where did you leave her?"

"We were just finishing up at the Great Hall. All we had left was the dungeons." She answered over her shoulder as she sped away.

Draco stomach twisted oddly at the word dungeons and he frowned. "Brown!" he called out again. She skidded to a stop before rounding the corner. "How did you find out about Patil?"

"Blaise Zabini told us"

_Oh. God._

Hermione hurried through the castle, hastily peeking in the dungeon rooms and giving them negligent once-overs. But, she was okay. She was fine. She'd be done in fifteen minutes.

She smiled to herself, gloating in her defiance of Malfoy's overbearing edict about patrolling with a partner. The smile as quickly gone though, as she passed through the corridor before the kitchens. It was especially dark here, and she figured that it was kept that way to discourage hungry students from infiltrating the kitchens and preying on the house elves.

In a shadowed nook of the corridor, he watched her poke her head into the kitchens. He could hear her asking the night-elf if everything was all right, the squeaky response, and her friendly "good night."

I was going to be a good night. As soon as he heard about Bulstrode's accident, he could see the whole thing in his mind, and now it was all playing out exactly as he'd imagined it. No one ever came down here. There was nothing beyond the kitchens except a long twisting corridor with one room at the end of the last bend. Not a classroom, smaller, dusty and filled with broken bookshelves, rickety wooden chairs, and a beat up four-poster missing its canopy. It looked like it had been burned.

It seemed fitting to him that he'd found the room late one night while hiding from a prefect pair as he emerged from a late-night snack. It was how he knew that her route would take her down that long hall next. His body thrummed in excitement.

Hermione was a girl who trusted her instincts. Something was off. She could feel it. She was regretting telling Lavender to go. But she was so close. Just one more turn, then the storage room and she'd be done. The dungeons were cold and dank and smelled slightly of wet dust. The air moving across her neck felt strange. She felt exposed.

Finally, the door came into view. She reached for the handle, gripping her wand tightly. She thrust her lit wand into the room, deciding not to step inside, and waved it around. The tension left her body seeing everything in order. She dropped her hand and shook her head, scolding herself for being silly and letting her imagination get the best of her.

Before Hermione could turn around she was suddenly jolted by a large heavy thud against her back. Her arms shot out to the doorframe to keep herself from being pushed into the abandoned room. She tried to turn around and see her attacker, but he'd thrown one impossibly strong arm around her, pinning her arms to her side. Thank God she still had her wand. A sharp point was jabbed painfully into her throat. "Silencio" he whispered in her ear as her eyes grew wider. Real, true panic set in and her heart thumped so hard that it hurt as she tried to scream.

"Hello Mudblood. What? No tender greeting?" Zabini. She struggled violently in his grasp but couldn't budge. Anger flared through her and she twisted her wrist in painfully so it was pointing at his hip. She could only cast a few spells silently, but it just might give her the upper hand. 'Expelliarmus' she said in her mind. Blaise's wand tip scraped against her neck as it flew out his hand and clattered onto the floor. She could feel a line of heat pulsing on her neck.

"You little bitch!" he ground out angrily. With his now free hand he dug into the collar of her robe and yanked down hard. Tears pooled in her eyes at the pain of the strong fabric resisting and digging into her neck until it ripped with a harsh, loud tearing noise.

"You're going to pay for that Mudblood!" he said, pushing her chest into the doorframe as he bit her neck hard. She tried to stab him with her wand, but her angle was to extreme and he reached down to grab the stick of useless wood, throwing it across the hall and then twisting her arm behind her back.

The pain shooting up her arm was intense and Hermione felt the tears start to stream down her face. Every move she made to free herself sent excruciating jolts right into her brain.

His large hand clasped onto her throat and he turned her, pressing her back into the wall roughly with both of her arms pinned behind her. The twisting pain was lessened, but the uneven stone felt like it was shattering her bones as he held her there with his body slammed into her.

"It's time someone took you off your high-horse Mudblood!" he spat. "You walk around here like you are more pure than a pureblood, and I have news for you…" he pulled harshly down on her ripped robe, bringing the edge of her t-shirt with it and making her neck jerk forward. He looked down at the plain white bra covering her one exposed breast and grinned evilly. His thigh was pushing harder between her legs and forcing them apart. She could feel him grinding his arousal into her.

The fingers around her throat tightened and Hermione felt like her head was swelling as she tried to swallow and breathe.

_Oh, God. This was not happening._

"You're worthless, Mudblood. You're nothing! There is only one thing Mudbloods are good for." He brought one large hand to her chest and grabbed hard. Hermione grit her teeth and glared at him in warning. "And you, you sanctimonious little bitch are about to find out what!" He squeezed her breast tightly and she winced. That was it. She wasn't going down like this.

Without hesitation she slammed her head forward as hard as she could, connecting severely with Zabini's nose. For a second she was blinded, not from the throb in her forehead like she thought at first, but from blood.

Zabini stumbled backwards clutching his face. Hermione breathed a huge gulping breath, feeling a little dizzy, but willing herself not to pass out from the rush of oxygen. She lunged towards her wand and was nearly there when a tremendous yank on her ponytail ripped her head backwards, sending her to her knees and being dragged backwards by her hair.

Faster than she could have imagined she was right back where she'd been a second ago with Zabini slammed into her, her wrists bruising in a blood covered hand. Before she saw it coming, his palm made contact with the side of her face. Light blossomed behind her eyes like beautiful flowers.

The first thing Draco saw was Hermione's head turned at an odd, sharp angle. Then he registered the blood on Hermione's face and splattered over her chest. In that moment of stasis he thought he might loose his mind.

Three things happened at once. An image of his mother that he'd not allowed into his conscious mind, on her back, covered in blood, her blue eyes open and glassy, flashed through his mind, an overwhelming, suffocating flood of guilt and responsibility surged through him, and a rage unlike anything he'd ever experienced rushed into his blood, obliterating his thought process.

He felt like he was watching from outside his body. In one motion, he clamped a powerful hand around the front of Zabini's throat and threw him by the neck into the opposite wall. There was a horrid cracking noise. The pain and surprise on Zabini's face warred with confusion as he gasped for air. Draco squeezed harder and Zabini scrambled in panic at Draco's arm. Draco's entire body shook and he brought his face two inched from his one-time friend's.

Draco tensed his jaw hard and ground his teeth together, trying to control the rage that was coursing through him. He was dimly aware of Hermione sliding down to the floor. His fingers dug into the sides of the Slytherin's neck. He wanted to rip the man's throat right out of his body.

Draco's voice was low and deadly. "If you _ever._ touch her. or even come near her again. I will _hunt_ you. and _rip_ you apart. piece…by tiny. piece. you sick. pathetic. _fuck!_

He released Zabini's throat to pull his arm back and let it fly into the scum's face. The crack of knuckles on bone was followed by the crack of Zabini's skull on the wall. The dark Slytherin still seemed to be in shock over his friend turning on him, he did not even try to fight back or protest.

Draco pulled his wand on him and cast an incarcerous just as a small figure appeared at his side. Without fanfare her small fist pummeled into her attacker's stomach. She was okay. All the tension drained out of his body and he stepped back to retrieve the fallen wands.

Draco watched with pride as Hermione took her revenge, though the expression on her face, of hurt, of betrayal, made Draco ache. He suddenly noticed that she had been silent the whole time and he cast a finite incantatem at her, while her fist flew in fury. Zabini looked nearly ready to pass out.

"…evil, disgusting excuse for a human being!" her voice appeared mid-punch and mid-scream. "You think I'm worthless because my blood isn't pure? But you're still willing to stick your pathetic prick in me? You can't get any on your own, so you have to…to… _steal_ it?" her pitch rose sharply as she punctuated each sentence with a blow to his stomach.

She gritted her teeth and ground out, "You're the worthless one Zabini! At least I don't have pure vileness running through me! Here, you wanted a little Mudblood that badly…" She wiped her fingers over the throbbing gash that he'd opened on her cheek, scooping as much of her own blood as she could and then smearing her bloody hand over his cheek and mouth.

"Here you go, Zabini, you pureblooded ass, how's it taste to lick Mudblood!" Figuring she was too short to do an effective job, Hermione sent her final punch directly into Zabini's crotch with a grinding roar. He grunted and doubled over onto his side. She looked like she was about to send her foot into his face when Draco pulled her back, and held her around her waist with her back against his body. She struggled, still wanting to make Zabini hurt, but Draco's just held her firmly and finally she collapsed into a puddle of tears.

"Shhhh, shhhh, shhhhh, shhhhh, okay, okay." He said softly in her ear as she let it all out. All her fear and panic and hurt and anger. When her tears calmed, he said, "I'll have Dobby take him to the Headmaster. Do you want to go to the infirmary?" She shook her head and held the torn fabric at her chest closed. Draco reached around her and handed her the wand he'd picked up, providing her with a little privacy. She flushed a little realizing that Draco must have seen and quickly repaired her torn shirt. "Let's get out of here." He said with one hand at the small of her back.

Draco sat in the large leather chair with his face in his hands. Dobby had been called and came back twice. Once to tell him that the Headmaster would be stopping by in a moment, and again carrying a tray with two mugs of hot chocolate and one mug of tea.

When Dumbledore knocked on the frame of the portrait door, Hermione was still in the bathroom cleaning herself up. Dumbledore didn't stay long, but eyed the tray of mugs and smiled a little, then asked Draco tell Hermione that she would be excused from her classes the next day (as would Draco) and that he'd like to see her when she felt ready.

Draco paced across the room a few times and finally came to rest at the window, staring in to the blackness. He was shaken up. He'd never seen anything like that and he didn't know what to say to her.

He was disgusted with himself, with men, with purebloods. Somehow being all three made him feel directly responsible. It made his skin crawl.

When Granger walked out of the bathroom he forced himself to look at her. The blood was gone, but the gash on her right cheek was raw and red. She had red marks and bruises on her face, throat, and wrists, and a small purple-reddish lump on her forehead. Her hair was free and electric.

"What happened to your forehead?"

She looked down, but was smiling a little proudly, "I head-butted him."

He held in the little laugh that threatened to break out at the picture of the tiny girl ramming her head into the Zabini's face. He watched her sit on the couch and pick up a mug of chocolate, and then joined her, sinking into the chair again.

"What did Dumbledore want?"

"He wants to see you when you're up to it, and you don't have to go to classes tomorrow." He said staring into his mug.

She made a scoffing/snorting noise. "As if I'd miss classes because of a low-life like Zabini."

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "You have a twisted sense of priorities, Granger."

"You know, Ron has said the exact same thing, many times." The corner of her mouth twitched.

The silence filling the room was nothing like the thick, heady, but soothing silence they had grown used to with each other. This was awkward and uncomfortable.

Hermione set her cup down and folded her hands in her lap. "Thank you, Malfoy. That's twice now. It seems that I'm the one who owes you, after all."

It was a reference to the first note and he knew it. His eyes shot up to hers finally and he couldn't hide the guilt he felt.

"You shouldn't thank me, Granger." He said with a hint of bitterness and remorse as he set his mug down too. "It was my fault. I should have warned you."

"About what? That Zabini was going to go off the deep end and try to deflower me?"

"He's been going on for months about how much he hates you. I didn't know if he would do anything, and he hasn't said anything for weeks. So, I thought he was over it. The last time was when you walked in on…Granger, I was only trying to get him to shut up… I actually thought he'd set up the snake thing, but he was in detention that night. But then I realized that he didn't want to kill you. Damn it! I should have reported him! I just didn't think he'd actually do anything."

"Oh, Malfoy… you didn't need to warn me. I knew. He's had it out for me since fourth year. He tried to kiss me at the Yule Ball. He saw Viktor and me outside, um…kissing, and when Viktor went in to grab his cloak for me, Zabini thought he should have his turn too. I hexed him rather spectacularly, and he's never really gotten over it." She let out an exhausted sigh. "He's been threatening my purity every year since."

Draco stood up suddenly and began to pace agitatedly. How had he not known? Before this year, Blaise had never said anything to indicate anything more than casual dislike. He wanted to throw something. Hermione stood up and took her empty mug to the kitchenette, filling it with water.

Draco turned his back to her, so she wouldn't see the war of feelings battling on his face. He leaned on the desk with the cubbies and a crumpled up note in his cubby caught his eye. He pulled it out, and unfolded it.

_You're wrong._

_We are friends. _

_-Hermione_

The water stopped running, and Draco turned around, the note held up in his hand, and they stared at each other.

Up until this moment, her next words had only lived in a dark recess of her mind, with no plans to ever see the light of day. And why now? Perhaps it was the adrenaline still coursing through her body. Or perhaps, it was the look on Malfoy's face as he held the note she'd written days ago, that he'd proven to be true tonight. Maybe it was the way he'd said that he'd rip Zabini to pieces if he ever touched her again. But most likely, it was nothing more exciting than an idea whose time had come.

"Malfoy…Draco…I want you to be my first."


	18. You might be surprised

Draco blinked.

Hermione was every bit as stunned as Malfoy looked. Like someone else had control over vocal cords and had spoken against her will, or at least her better judgment. Under no circumstances had she _ever_ intended to utter those words.

But now they were out, hanging palpably in the air between them, and all she could do was remain fixed in place, with her cheeks flaming hot, staring back at him, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

In those moments that Draco stood there, gaping at her with the note raised halfway in the air, he tried to formulate an appropriate reaction. But as laughing, leaving, or pretending he didn't know what she was talking about were all equally stupid, he said the one thing that was repeating over and over in his head.

"Are you out of your mind?" A very real possibility considering the lump on her forehead.

"No."

No. That's it. Just a plain old 'No.'

It was too much. Draco didn't know how to deal with this on top of everything else. He put the note in his pocket then stretched his fingers out, palm down in front of him, examining his hand. His knuckles were bruised badly and had blood smeared on them.

"We need to go to the infirmary." He said matter of factly, like she hadn't just asked him to take her virginity.

"Okay."

Madame Pomfrey was up and seemed to be waiting for them. The walk down had been surreal, with neither of them saying anything and not daring to look anywhere but straight ahead. The busy attentions of the Mediwitch were a welcome distraction from the weight that had settled between them. Hermione looked around the room while Draco was having his hand fixed up and saw what she thought were Parvati's shoes tucked under a curtained bed at the far end of the room. Well, at least that had actually been true.

By the time Madame Pomfrey was done with them, neither appeared worse for wear, aside from being a little tired looking. When they walked out into the corridor Hermione looked in the direction of the dungeons, then up the main staircase. She told Draco that she was going to go to bed and he nodded solemnly, biting the inside of his cheek. He then proceeded to walk with her to the fourth floor and to her dorm. She didn't protest, though she thought she should. It was a slow, silent walk, both of them lost in their muddled thoughts and feelings.

That night, Draco lay on his bed with his arms behind his head, staring at the canopy.

He was deeply shaken by seeing someone – someone he knew, a sort of friend – attack Granger. The image of her head turned too sharply to the side with her cheek bleeding seemed stuck in his brain, along with the finger shaped bruises on her neck.

He had heard about his father's attack on the group of fifth years at the Ministry. He wondered now if it had been like that. If his father had been like Zabini. If he had ever wrapped his hand around the girl's throat. Or any girl's throat. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

He thought of her taking her anger out on Zabini, and then later drinking chocolate in the common room. He knew she was going to be fine, but he couldn't help thinking that if she had been someone else, someone less strong, that probably would not be the case. He wondered briefly, if he had anything to do with the thick skin she had built up, but it wasn't something he could be proud of if he did. Thinking back to those early years, he concluded that her strength was all her own. Granger seemed to have an unbreakable spirit.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the rumpled note. Running his finger over her words, he knew it was true. Sort of. He doubted they'd be chatting it up in the halls after classes. The thought made him smirk a little. What would Pansy think if he told her that he was friends with Granger? Heh, what would Potter think?

Friends. What the hell did that mean anyway?

Her first... It was wrong. It was wrong on so many levels. Something must have gone awry in Granger's brain. Was it supposed to be her twisted way of thanking him? Was it some way of getting back at purebloods? Did she think she needed to prove Zabini wrong?

As his father's son, as Zabini's friend, as a boy who had spent the better part of five years trying to crush her, there was no way he was worthy of such a thing.

Hermione rubbed the wrinkled green fabric she had stuffed in a corner of her trunk over her lips slowly and began a thorough examination of her thoughts and feelings about being attacked. In a way, she felt as though she had been mentally preparing for a situation like this since she was twelve years old and had first been called Mudblood. Prepared or not, she was extremely relieved that Zabini had not been successful in his supposed goal. That would have been awful. She still had a hard time believing that some purebloods could hold such extreme views. It went against logic. And it hurt, she wouldn't pretend it didn't. But, somehow, being so violently defended by the epitome of purebloods himself, took all the power out of it.

She brought the tie up to her face and buried her face in the scrunched up fabric, squeezing her eyes shut. She wasn't sorry that she had said it, but she had definitely surprised herself – and Malfoy too for that matter. His absolute change of topic made that clear. She wondered what things would be like between them now. The idea had snuck up on her, as if it had been brewing in the back of her mind all this time, and had revealed itself (to both of them) at the worst time. But, it was true; she did want to him to be her first. Her stomach wriggled severely and she wiggled her legs in response.

Draco stared hard into wide brown eyes. He was only an inch from her face and his body pressed into hers. He watched her expression change from familiar indignation to fear. He could feel the ridge of her trachea against his palm as she tried to swallow. His father's voice was whispering to him, "Do it, Draco. Do it now!"

Draco sprung up and blinked into the dark room, breathing hard and fast. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. _It wasn't him. It wasn't him. It wasn't him._

He brought his hands together over his mouth and nose, breathing into the crevice and said a silent prayer of thanks. It wasn't him. He didn't do it.

It was six in the morning, and despite not falling asleep until almost three, Draco was now wide-awake. A few things had occurred to him during the night and he was anxious to get them resolved. He showered and dressed quickly. Luckily, the person he needed to talk to would likely be awake. Dumbledore was a morning person.

Draco sat stiffly in one of the wing chairs in the Headmaster's office. The Headmaster sat across from him, behind his messy desk, looking thoughtful.

"You couldn't have had much rest, Draco. I assume you want to discuss the events of last evening."

Draco noticed that the Headmaster had called him by his first name and couldn't explain the bubble of warmth he felt. "Yes Sir. I was wondering what will happen to Zabini?"

"Well, that will depend on Miss Granger, but he has already been removed from the school."

Draco let out a breath. "Will he go to Azkaban?"

"Well, he is of age, so it's a possibility, but we'll have to see how Miss Granger wants to proceed." The old man repeated.

"Sir…" Draco began tentatively, "Will she be okay?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Oh, I'm sure of it. Miss Granger is quite a powerful young witch. Over the years she has borne great hardships with grace and an indomitable strength of character." At this he looked pointedly at Draco with a bit of a smirk of his own.

"Even so," he continued, "I imagine she is currently feeling rather grateful that you showed up when you did. You, Mr. _Malfoy,_ are developing quite a habit of getting the Head Girl out of sticky situations." And there was that familiar twinkle.

Draco stood to leave, trying to hide how uncomfortable he felt about that topic, among other things. He turned halfway towards the door and hesitated a moment. Dumbledore took the invitation.

"Was there something else you wanted to discuss with me Draco?"

There was a persistent buzzing in Draco's chest and he took a deep breath that seemed too loud in the quiet office.

This was it. He was going to jump over the fence. For Good.

"I'd like to help fight Voldemort."

Dumbledore only smiled a little, but his eyes were warm and welcoming, almost…fatherly. He nodded a little, like he had been expecting it all along.

"Your help would be invaluable. I'm sure you are aware, via your father, of Mr. Potter's role in defeating Voldemort?" Draco nodded. "Have you discussed this at all with Harry?"

"I don't think he'd be too likely to believe me, Sir."

Dumbledore lowered his chin to look at Draco over his bifocals.

"Ah. Well, it is true, Draco, that you may catch him off guard, but Mr. Potter might just surprise you as well. You will have to take the chance."

Draco didn't know what to say to that, so he nodded and thanked the Headmaster before leaving.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair with his fingers steepled under his chin, looking contemplative and smiling with satisfaction at the closed door of his office.

Hermione decided not to tell Ron or Harry. Not because she was ashamed or anything ridiculous like that. But, rather their over-protective behavior towards her – especially concerning her "virtue" – was something she didn't want to deal with. And even more than that, she was concerned that Harry especially had enough on his plate at the moment. She hoped they would be understanding of her reasons when she did eventually tell them.

Besides that, she liked the way it felt to treat the whole incident like it was no big deal. It made it seem like…no big deal. Hermione was not prone to dramatics. And last, she didn't fancy the idea of having to tell them that Malfoy had saved her – again. So, for now, she kept it to herself.

She did wonder what was going to happen with Zabini and she worried that people would start asking questions about his absence, so as soon as breakfast was over, Hermione told her friends that she had some Head's business to take care of with Dumbledore and wouldn't be in their first class. She glanced briefly at the Slytherin table before she left and saw Draco with his eyes glued to his bowl.

The Headmaster talked at length with Hermione about how she was feeling, possible courses of action and what she, and Zabini, could expect with each one. One thing was decided for sure, and that was that he would not be returning to Hogwarts. Azkaban was not high on Hermione's list as it seemed ludicrous to put a mentally unstable person behind bars, in the daily company of dementors, who would only make them more crazy – Lucius Malfoy comes to mind. And Zabini was so young. Though she believed he should be punished, she also believed in the possibility of redemption – the younger Malfoy comes to mind.

Hermione told Dumbledore about her history with Zabini and the threats he had made over the years. In light of that, along with the extreme nature of his opinions about the Head Girl, relayed to him by Draco, Dumbledore suggested that perhaps it was less an ideology issue and more of psychological one. Hermione agreed.

An Auror arrived from the Ministry and took Hermione's story. A locked ward at St. Mungo's where he would receive help for his condition seemed the best solution to Hermione.

When the Auror left, Hermione turned to the Headmaster and asked, "Professor, what are you going to tell the students?"

"Poppy has informed me that Mr. Zabini did indeed spend the better part of the evening in infirmary, so I think the truth wouldn't be too far fetched. That Mr. Zabini is ill and is at St. Mungo's until further notice."

The answer seemed to satisfy the Head Girl and Dumbledore broke into a smile. "Now… I believe we have a Yule Ball coming up in about a month and I thought you and Draco might like to use some of the decorations we've kept over the years. No sense reinventing the wheel."

The Headmaster gave Hermione directions and the password to a small room on the sixth floor that apparently held many years worth of holiday decorations. Hogwarts was an odd place.

Draco sat in the back of the potions classroom, eyeing the empty chair between Potter and Weasel. So much for not missing any classes. He scrutinized the backs of the two Gryffindor's heads. He wondered what she did when she was with them. Did she spend her time with them, the way she did with him? Curled up in front of a fire with their noses in books? Draco scoffed. Doubtful. The wonder twins were not known for being studious. Did they know about all the time she spent with _him?_ Did they question her about it? What would she tell them?

Hermione wondered the same thing, and it seemed that she might have to answer sooner rather than later, if the suspicious looks Harry kept giving her were any indication.

"Did you and Malfoy kiss and make up yet?" he asked her over dinner. Hermione almost dropped her fork. She knew it was just a turn of phrase, but _really._

"Why yes, we did, Harry." Hermione responded smugly to cover up her embarrassment.

"Tell me you did not just mention Malfoy and kissing in the same sentence," Ron groaned. "I might lose my appetite."

Harry and Hermione both snorted. "That'll be the day, mate," Harry laughed.

Ron suddenly launched into a story about the last time he'd lost his appetite after walking in on his red-faced parents in a rather compromising position on the kitchen table, thinking he was in Diagon Alley at his brothers' shop. "I couldn't eat a meal off that table for a week!"

Everyone within earshot was laughing and Hermione thanked Merlin Harry was distracted enough to drop his questioning. She had a feeling the topic would be revisited soon enough.

Silver eyes narrowed on the boisterous Gryffindor table at the eruption of laughter. She was positively beaming, easy and relaxed with her friends. It wasn't what _their_ friendship looked like.

He pushed his uneaten potatoes to the side of his plate and after a minute of batting around the one remaining broccoli floret, he dropped his fork and stalked out of the hall.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Draco stand up. She also saw Harry's head swivel towards him, curiosity plainly written on his face. She laughed brightly at Ginny's account of also catching the elder Weasley's "in the act," pretending she hadn't noticed either of them.


	19. I'm going to kiss you Granger

It was going to snow any day now. The frigid air froze Draco's sweat to his skin, but he flew faster, higher. Practice was over an hour ago and the team rushed down to the changing rooms. Draco took off. He was escaping her again. Or trying to.

But this time she was winning. A loop played in his mind. Images of Granger. Vignettes – he could never seem to get the whole picture, could never have all of her. Her ear, her knee, her cut cheek, her hand brushing his stomach, the silver dress sparkling gold in the flickering firelight (funny that…silver…gold), her fists pummeling Zabini, the taste of her shoulder. It was like that crazy mix of scents that swallowed him every time he got too close to her. He could hold bits and pieces, but never grasp the whole thing.

Draco had never wanted to be anyone's first.

He told himself that it was because he expected his lovers to be experienced, to know how to give him pleasure. He had no interest in the ineptitude of virgins.

But in a deep, dark place in his heart, a place he denied existed, was a different reason. Draco didn't think he was the sort of man a girl should give her virginity too. He didn't know what to do with a gift like that – he didn't want to be responsible for it, and he didn't deserve it.

And he deserved it even less with Granger.

He was afraid. He was afraid of himself.

He was so sick of this confusion. He longed for the self-assurance that had always been with him, but it eluded him.

He flew around the castle, blending in with the darkening sky, his hair bright like the moon. The small diamond paned windows were orange against the stone exterior, washed in dark blue. Draco hovered to the side of a second story window, lost in his uncertainty, and then turned back.

Hermione lifted her eyes and watched as he read through the small stack of parchments and then opened the folios for the Yule Ball and the Tutoring Program. He made some notes, read through something, made more notes. If his silence didn't give away his mood, his body did.

He was untouchable. This was the Malfoy she had always known. Walled behind a foot of impenetrable ice. Distant, haughty, over-confident, impeccable posture at all times. He had looked down his nose at her even when they were eleven and the same height.

But now, as they sat in this common room, making slow in-roads towards civility – and more – he had relaxed. His posture was still perfect, but he seemed at ease and that made Hermione feel proud. Now it was gone. In its place was the old Malfoy. Rigid. Hard. Untouchable.

Worse, was that despite the cold emanating from him, she still found him unbearably attractive. She wanted to look at him, and look at him, and look at him, and not stop. Ever.

His robes were thrown over the back of the chair and his tie was loosened. Hermione zoned in on his forearms, bare, with the white oxford's sleeves rolled up. From her desk she could make out the ridges of veins that disappeared under his cuffs, as well as the shoulder muscles she now knew the shape of – that she had touched – straining under the crisp cotton. She frowned at her self.

It was clear from Draco's curt tone at their Heads' meeting on Thursday that the tension between them had risen to elephant-sized proportions. Hermione tried hard not to rise to his prickly attitude. Some fights were not worth it and Hermione was more concerned about the fragile state of their friendship than she was about tomorrow's prefects' meeting. It really didn't matter what order they talked about Quidditch, tutoring, patrols and the upcoming Yule Ball. He could run the whole damn meeting for all she cared and she told him so, right before she walked out of the HCR, shutting the portrait none too gently.

Draco slammed his folio on the floor in frustration. He knew he was being a jerk, but he couldn't seem to get a grip on his anger. Or his desire. He felt like he was battling every moment not to just scream out, "YES!" and throw her down on the ground and fuck her brains out.

And it was worse when she was angry. Her eyes sparked and she flushed pink, on her cheeks, down her neck, the way she had that night – with the words. And when she was trying not to react to him, to not say something back, her lips pouted, drawing his eyes to them. It was making him crazy.

Hermione watched with her arms crossed over her chest and a stony expression as Malfoy led the prefects' meeting on Friday. It was fast, full of information, and over in the blink of an eye. The prefects all looked a little stunned as they collected their notes from their cubbies. Before the first prefect had exited, Malfoy had his bag hitched onto his shoulder and was making his way out of the portrait. Hermione huffed at the back of the blonde head disappearing behind the door. She was trying to be patient with him, she really was, but she was starting to wear thin.

There wasn't one speck of remotely interesting news in Saturday's Daily Prophet. Hermione folded up the paper, placing it on the bench beside her. Harry was absent – no doubt having a bit of a lie-in – and Ron was inhaling his breakfast like it was going out of style. Hermione pushed her plate away with a small groan.

The hall was unusually high-spirited. The students of Hogwarts had woken up to a thick blanket of new snow, promising all the winter mischief that could be conceived. A Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor snowball fight was currently being planned, as well as a snow statue transfiguration contest. Those students capable of such intricate transfigurations competed to see who could make the most accurate representations of people at Hogwarts out of snow. Professors Snape and McGonagall were favorite subjects, icy as they were; though last year's Professor Sprout was particularly funny. Statues made by the less adept tended to look something like house elves. Dobby had once told her that the house elves were honored that students wanted to make such lovely snow statues of them.

Hermione wondered what it would be like to have a snowball fight with Slytherin. Brutal, if she guessed correctly. She shivered at the thought and caught Ginny's eye. Lavender and Ginny were going to Hogsmeade today, sans boyfriends under the guise of buying presents, but mostly to have a girls' day together. They invited Hermione and she agreed. It would be just the thing to break her bad mood.

In Hogsmeade the girls did, after all, spend a good portion of their time debating over Christmas presents for fathers, boyfriends, and brothers, and they spent far more time in the Quidditch shop than Hermione would have liked to. But, they also visited the bookstore, as well as a lovely jewelry shop tucked into a little corner.

Lavender wanted to get Ron a ring that matched hers, and Ginny tried to look like she _wasn't_ looking at rings in the wedding section. Hermione just walked around the store letting her eyes fall on whatever was in front of wherever her feet took her. At the back of the store in a dusty case were dozens of finely crafted pieces that twirled and shined. One caught her eye.

Hung on a long silvery chain towards the back of one shelf was a tiny platinum snitch, smaller than a pea. Hermione thought of Draco and then frowned. Why not Harry? Or even Ron? Both her best friends were Quidditch players, not to mention, fans of the highest order. But she couldn't stop thinking of Draco. She looked over her shoulder to see the girls in a serious debate over rings and she bit her lip. The shopkeeper, a quiet elderly man with a knack for suddenly appearing, suddenly appeared at her side making Hermione jump a little. She asked to see the necklace and the old man smiled and pulled it out, handing it to her before disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared.

Hermione held the chain up so the tiny snitch was before her eyes. It had intricate carvings on it, much like a real snitch, and when she reached up to touch it, delicate, almost non-existent wings fluttered open and rotated slowly, like a snitch that had just been caught. She held the little ball between her fingers. It was exquisite.

Saturday evening was spent with smuggled butterbeers, in front of the Gryffindor common room fire, recovering from an exhausting snowball fight they'd been pulled into when they returned from Hogsmeade. It was warm and friendly and the cheerful voices of her friends made Hermione smile contentedly. She was perfectly happy to not think about Malfoy for a little while, even as she rubbed her finger repeatedly over the small box in her pocket.

It snowed again during the night and by Sunday morning Hogwarts was coated in a fresh blanket that softened the proof of the battle the day before. Hermione worked on her potion in her room for the first half of the day, thereby avoiding all manner of incidents, and after lunch joined her friends in the Gryffindor common room again.

She stared into the fire, distracted by her thoughts while the group chatted happily.

Harry leaned in close to Hermione and asked quietly, "What are you doing after dinner?"

"Nothing special."

"Wanna go for a walk around the lake? I know a good warming spell or two."

Hermione smiled, "Sure Harry. That would be nice."

"Good, I want to talk to you."

Hermione gave him a half-hearted smile. Great.

Their footfalls were muffled in the deep, soft snow and the two old friends were silent as they trudged along. It was getting dark earlier now and the grounds were already washed in the blue paint of twilight. Hermione glanced sideways at Harry's profile, a nervous tickle in her belly.

"Alright, Harry. Don't keep me in suspense. What's going on?" she asked as soon as they reached the lake.

"I was going to ask you the same question."

"What do you mean?" She tried to sound nonchalant.

"Hermione, I know you are busy with all your duties, and I imagine you've found a better place to study than the library because you are never there, but it's been _months_…. I just want to know what is going on with you."

When Hermione didn't answer him right away, Harry decided he should just come out with it. "I mean, I want to know what's going on with Malfoy?"

Hermione stopped and turned to face him, letting out an exasperated sigh, "Oh, Harry…"

"Okay, wait. Let me say something first," Harry interrupted and took a deep breath. "Alright, look, Malfoy has been different, yeah? I think something's changed. Especially this year. But even last year he hardly said a word to any of us. I _know_ you've been spending a lot of time with him…"

"Harry..."

"No. Wait. Listen. I know you've been spending a lot of time with him, and I want to know what you think. If you think he's still the same on the inside, or if he's really changed?"

Hermione let out a huge internal sigh of relief. That was not what she was expecting. "I think he's changed," she said without hesitation. Then she looked at her feet and said quietly, "I know he's changed."

"Yeah," Harry said as if he'd thought so all along and just needed it confirmed by someone else. Someone with good judgment. And nobody had better judgment than Hermione.

"Harry? What's this all about?"

"I dunno. I was just thinking about what happened…to his parents, and was thinking that if it'd been me, the last person I'd want to be buddies with would be Voldemort." Harry looked out over the blue lake. Hermione looked at his profile and took in the far away expression. Softly, he said, "Plus, now we're both in the same boat." Hermione put her arm around Harry's shoulder and looked across the lake with him.

"And there's the part where he saved my best friend's life." Harry turned to her with a crooked smile.

It took Hermione a moment to realize that he meant the snakebite and not Zabini and she smiled back. "Yes, there is that."

They continued on their walk, pulling their cloaks tighter, and after a few minutes Harry said, "He's still a prat, though."

The intricate wand movement of the transfiguration spell Hermione was working on wasn't making any sense. The swish and hook after three counterclockwise revolutions seemed to add an extra revolution and she couldn't be sure if that was supposed to be counted as one of the three, or was in addition to them. Her eyes flicked up to the common room door for the hundredth time, which was not helping. Would he come tonight?

When the portrait door finally did open, Hermione felt a rush of something sweep through her and she locked her gaze onto Malfoy's. The piercing stare he gave her left her without a clue as to what was going on his mind, but made her heart thump hard against her chest. After a long moment he turned and presented her with his back as he dropped his bag and robe, and pulled out the Yule Ball folio. She felt inexplicably anxious for him to look at her again.

"Dumbledore wanted us to go look at the Yule decorations," she blurted out.

Draco turned around and gave her an odd look. "Now?"

She fidgeted with her quill, "I guess now is as good a time as any."

He hesitated a moment. "Lead the way, Granger."

The bobbing swish of Granger's school skirt drew Draco's eyes like a magnet as he walked a few paces behind her. He was plagued with conflicting thoughts. The skirt wasn't helping. The backs of her thighs seemed to be mocking him. _This is what you can't have, Draco Malfoy, right here on this silver platter she's handing you._ Walking behind her up the stairs was brutal.

His sigh was muffled by their footsteps and Draco forced his eyes up. The temptation there was just as cruel. The cloud of honey curls bounced in time with her skirt. He hated her hair.

Draco closed his eyes briefly and then tried looking over her head.

The room was large, but so full that there was very little room to move around. They both stood in the doorway for a minute to take in the sheer magnitude of it. It was dim with only one sconce.

"Damn, I left my wand," Hermione cursed herself out loud. Draco lit his and held it up, casing a soft light over the stacks and stacks of boxes and the shelves lining the walls. Hermione let the door close behind them and Draco immediately moved away from her. She frowned.

After defending him to Harry, it pissed her off that Malfoy was still not really talking to her. She turned her back on him and began to peek in the boxes. Miles of gold garland. Strands of silver tinsel. Hundreds of glass icicles that hovered in the air where ever you left them.

She had probably offended his stuck-up pureblood sensibilities. How dare she suggest that he lower himself to touch a mudblood! Friend or not, the great Draco Malfoy must be sick to his stomach at the very idea! Hermione was working herself up into a healthy strop.

She wanted to shout at him, 'Forget it! I don't care anymore! Forget I said anything! Maybe I don't want you either you stupid prat!' She threw the little glowing crystal star she was holding back into the box and it clunked loudly against the other stars.

Draco looked up at the noise and she looked up too, on the verge of letting everything in her head come spilling out. His expression was odd, but his eyes held hers and all the anger left her. She did care. She did want him. Damn it!

Draco dropped his gaze to the box in front of him and opened it. Glittering snowflakes. He was listening to her move and trying to focus instead on the task at hand. Jars of Everlasting Snow. They were moving in a circle around the room, starting at the door and each making their way in opposite directions along the outer path. Eventually they would meet at the bottom of the circle, where a tall bookcase with an old rolling ladder was crammed with more boxes. Draco stalled, carding his fingers through strands of gold angel hair, delaying the inevitable.

They worked in silence, opening boxes, examining the decorations, and putting them back. Hermione mentally catalogued her finds and tried to pretend he wasn't there. She was getting closer and she knew it. She looked around for a distraction. A row of sparkling silver boxes on the top shelf of the bookcase caught her eye.

Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as she moved closer to him and then turned abruptly to climb the old ladder. The wood creaked loudly in the stone room and the wheels at the base squeaked once.

The ladder ended at the third shelf and Hermione had to stretch to hook one of the boxes and nudge it toward her. One leg came off the ladder to balance her and the movement caught Draco's eye. He turned his head towards her. He could see the caramel skin of her inner thigh. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly.

How did this happened? How did he come to desire Gryffindor's Princess to the point of such intense torment after six years of despising her? And why did it have to be the one person he couldn't just _have?_ The ladder's wheel squealed harshly and Draco looked up just in time to watch her wobble, drop a silver box, and catch herself on the side of the ladder.

They both looked down at the box as it fell open and hundreds of tiny fairy lights floated up, like bees from a fallen hive, swirling around her on the ladder and then filling the room with small spheres of suspended yellow light. Draco looked up at the scene before him.

It was dream-like. Fairy lights swirled around her legs and upwards, bathing her in gold. Her skin glowed like a living thing in the moving light, and lights on the other side of her shone through her unruly curls and highlighted her delicate profile. A wave of longing washed over Draco. She looked at him sideways for a second and then started down the ladder.

A loud splintering sound echoed off the walls as her foot hit the next rung and then Draco was suddenly under her, his large hands wrapped firmly around her hips. Hermione didn't move, both shocked at the touch, and afraid the ladder would break.

"Get down Granger," his voice was low and commanding, almost angry, and she began to climb down carefully, her hips held tightly in his hands. At the base of the ladder, Draco's grip tightened. She was down. Safe. But, his hands were still on her, holding her there. She could hear him breathing behind her.

"Thank you," she said quietly with her back to him. His fingers dug into her again and her heart leapt into her throat.

He was fighting. Fighting to control it. He closed his eyes and tried to will his hands to let go. She was in his hands. He was touching her. He was finally holding Granger in his hands.

Ten seconds passed, fifteen. She was barely breathing. Terrified, frozen and exhilarated by her longing, by his closeness, and the anticipation drowning her.

Draco took a deep breath and it came out ragged. It was too much. She was so close.

Everything that had happened – everything that _hadn't_ happened – between them was building higher and higher, and then it was crashing down on him. Using his hold on her hips he turned her in a swift, smooth motion and hauled her small body into his and held her there, pinned to him by the arm around her waist.

His right hand cupped her face under her chin, tilting her face up to his. She could feel the insistence in his fingers grasping her firmly. She was acutely aware of his fingertips near her left eye, over her cheekbone, and of his thumb pressed along her jawbone.

Her face, her mouth, was his.

His jaw was clenching. She could see a tiny muscle pulsing along his temple. She thought she might pass out.

Draco was staring at her. Holding her face up, boring into her with those crystal, arctic silver eyes. He looked dangerous.

She felt like a sponge, a vessel, built to absorb the penetration. He was just staring at her. Into her eyes.

Hermione could feel the uneven rhythm of his chest and her chest, pressing against each other, coming together, falling apart, not entirely in sync.

"I'm going to kiss you Granger," he ground out low, rough. Hermione felt her breath catch, it might have stopped, and her eyes grew slightly wider.

This is it. Oh God. This is it.

There was a fairly light fluttering near his cheek.

She watched his eyes shut slowly as he closed the distance and she let her eyes close also. She could _feel_ his lips before they touched hers.

And then his mouth was closing over hers. The mouth she had stared at while he slept. His lips were warm and soft and it was slow and intense.

He sucked her lips softly into his and groaned. She felt the woosh go through her, down her legs, and then rush back up as he captured her mouth again. And again. And again. And she opened her mouth to him more each time and his tongue dipped between her lips.

He was tasting her, savoring her, sweeping his velvety tongue along hers. Slowly. So fucking slowly. And he tasted like nothing. Nothing she could name. She was kissing Draco Malfoy. Kissing Draco Malfoy. Kissing Draco Malfoy.

And it was decadent and she felt like he was making love to her mouth.

Hermione nudged her tongue into his mouth, to slide along his, and twirled her tongue around his. Draco felt like he was being undone, untied, and he might fall apart. Her hands were on his chest and he felt them move them up, slowly, in time with their lips, to his shoulders, and then his neck. Her little hands were on his bare skin. He felt hot, feverish. Her fingers were moving into his hair, clutching at him.

Draco bent her back farther and thrust deeper into the wet heat of her mouth, Plunging into her over and over. Faster. Harder. Plundering. Taking her. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, and the hand pulling her into him was suddenly palming the back of her head, her curls tightly bunched in the tangle of his fingers. His pace became frantic, desperate, and Draco felt like he was diving into her, his desire trying to dig down through her.

This is everything.

Their breathing was coming fast and hard. They were devouring each other. Draco stepped forward, guiding her backwards with his leg between hers. She stumbled, but it was a short distance and her back stopped against the wall. He needed to press into her, to push her into his body. His cock was a long, hard ridge, grinding against her hip.

The ache of his need was blinding him, driving him forward. Her hands were clutching at the back of his head. He tilted her head back further between his two hands. His mouth was open on hers and his tongue thrusting, circling, possessing her small mouth.

She moaned into his mouth and the sound reverberated in his brain. Stop Draco. He plunged into her mouth again. Stop Draco. His tongue wrapped around hers. Stop! From somewhere – he didn't know where – he pulled with everything in him, to regain control and tore his mouth from hers.

Their hard breaths collided in the small space left between their lips. After a moment he released her jaw and, with it, his absolute control of her head, and his hand moved into the mess of curls to join his other hand. Draco rested his forehead on the top of her head. He held her there with his eyes closed and remembered how to breathe.

Hermione's hands were still in his hair and she kept her eyes closed also, biting her lip. Her entire body was humming and she stood there, trembling, under the tower of Draco Malfoy, feeling the buzz course through her.

Draco fisted the soft curls in his fingers. He lost control. He took what he wanted. And now he wanted more. A lot more.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath and pushed away from her. Hermione's hands fell to her sides. She blinked slowly at his chest. She felt drugged. Her lips tingled or maybe itched and felt puffy.

Draco turned away from the temptation of Granger's kiss-swollen lips and dazed expression. He ran his hands through his hair, resting them – fingers locked – on the back of his neck.

Now what?

He walked over to the fallen box and picked it up, casting a quick spell to summon all the glowing fairies back to their nest. He covered the box and set it aside, plunging the room into darkness and walked to the door and opened it.

Hermione looked at him, not sure what to do, and not really able to think clearly anyway.

"Let's go," he said softly.

For four floors they both looked straight ahead as they made their way back to the common room. Draco said the password and held the door open. He followed behind her and picked up his robe and pulled his bag onto his shoulder.

Hermione numbly followed, filling her book bag and stuffing her robe into it. He waited for her by the door, opening it again and following her out into the hall. She turned to him and opened her mouth to say something.

Draco shook his head a little. "Later. I'll walk you..." and he nodded toward the staircase that led to her dorm.

Hermione swallowed and turned toward the stairs. In a manner of seconds, her brain went from a stand-still to overdrive. Why was he walking her? What about 'later'? Did this mean that…that…yeah, did this mean _that?_ Suddenly, "overdrive" sped up and she couldn't keep up as everything went silent again.

At her portrait, she turned to him again, but looked at his feet. He had on the boots. Her hair swung forward and hid her face. Draco reached out and tucked the curls behind her ear.

"Good night, Granger."


	20. I think we need to talk

Unknot tie. Remove shoes. Socks. Unbutton shirt. Hang up skirt. Bra. Knickers. PJs. First one leg, then the other. Hermione moved automatically, her mind wonderfully blank. She pulled down her covers and climbed in, staring up at the canopy. Her lips felt hot in the cool air of her dark bedroom.

Draco Malfoy kissed her. Kissed her like…like… she couldn't think of a way to describe it. But, it was, was...

She felt rattled.

Excited.

Scared.

Special.

She felt special. And that was weird.

Hermione was unsure what she was supposed to think, and oddly, the thought that kept surfacing was, "If the other girls knew…"

She could name fifteen girls off the top of her head that would die to be in her position, to be kissed by Draco Malfoy. Hermione groaned at the thought. She didn't want to be one of those girls.

As her faculties returned, a flood of questions entered her mind. What was going to happen now? What would this do to their working relationship? Why did he kiss her? What did it mean? Was he testing her out? Like taking her for a test-drive before he decided? Did his "damn it" mean that she had failed the test? Could she retake it?

She knew one thing for sure. There was _no way in hell_ she was going to behave like a love-sick puppy. Malfoy kissed her. So what? Was she supposed to swoon and trail at his heels? Okay, she might have swooned. A bit. But Swooning Time was over. And she was _not_ going to follow him around. She had more important things to do with her time.

Pansy pressed up against him on the couch and Draco inched away from her. Daphne looked like she was trying to not laugh and Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

He couldn't be alone with his thoughts right now. He needed a distraction. The distraction bent her legs under her so her knee was once again pressing into his thigh. He rolled his eyes.

It was just past curfew and the Slytherin Common Room was moderately full. Greg and Vince were huddled with Theo Nott in a corner over a game of snap. They were like sheep. In his absence they had attached themselves to Blaise. Now, with Blaise gone, it looked like Nott was next in line.

No one asked about Zabini. The subject seemed to be taboo. Draco wondered if the Slytherins understood that when Dumbledore said "ill", he meant "mentally ill". He wondered if they had seen it coming.

Even Pansy hadn't said anything. Draco was sure she had thing for Zabini and he wondered what she thought about his absence. But he wouldn't ask. Since Zabini's removal, she had been more gloomy than usual and he'd witnessed her sharp tongue lash out at more than one person. It was Pansy's way. It was the one thing about her that Draco understood.

"I've missed you Draco," she said in low purr, turning her body towards him. Draco cringed. He knew where this was going.

"Can't please all my fans all the time Pans," he said trying to put her off. Pansy didn't notice. Her arm "casually" landed on the back of the couch behind his neck.

She leaned in to whisper in his ear, "But your fans could please you." She brushed the hair at the nape of his neck lightly. She had all the subtly of a freight train.

Draco pointedly removed her arm from behind him and placed it in her lap, giving her a warning look. It was an old game between them and he couldn't believe that she was _still _trying. Score one for Parkinson in the tenacity department.

"I doubt it."

She huffed and pouted like a spoiled little girl. Draco shook his head tiredly and shared a look with Daphne.

Pansy tried a different tactic, "But you haven't been with anyone all year!"

Draco looked insulted. "How do you know?"

"I have my sources," she said smugly. "I have to keep track of my Drackie-"

"Don't!" Draco interrupted harshly. That was the one thing that he absolutely couldn't stand. That stupid nickname. Granger would never call him that.

Pansy huffed again and looked at Daphne as if asking for help. The tall Slytherin girl merely raised an eyebrow. She wouldn't get involved in one of Pansy's ruses if you paid her. Pansy scowled.

Draco shot a grateful look at Daphne and she smiled sweetly at him. Pansy's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. She narrowed her eyes on Daphne who looked confused by the sudden attention.

Pansy looked back at Draco. "Well, you certainly have been scarce lately," she continued in a tight, controlled voice and then turned back to glare at Daphne. "Maybe my sources have been looking too far from home," she said bitterly as she shot off the couch and then stomped off.

Daphne rolled her eyes and sighed. "If only she was right," she said wryly. "I better go clear that up before it gets out of hand."

Draco watched Daphne's back wondering briefly about "If only she was right." He shook his head to clear it. He had enough to deal with right now.

Pansy was a thorn in Draco's side. But it had been too long and too much had happened to pull the thorn out. He'd probably bleed to death. Even with her obnoxious fawning and clinging, the fact of the matter was that Pansy Parkinson would likely lay down her life for him. And that sort of loyalty was rare, especially in Slytherin. Loyalty was a Gryffindor trait.

Draco pulled off his clothes and left them piled on the floor of his bathroom. He held his wand up for a second, but couldn't think of anything to add. The hot water curled around his claves as he stepped down in the bath, and he felt his muscles relax the moment the heat surrounded them.

Pansy. He hadn't had sex with her since fourth year and even then it had only been a few times. Draco didn't really like her even then, but he was young and didn't know any better. She threw herself at him (a trait she hadn't grown out of) and he went for it, like any randy kid would. They fooled around; touching, hand jobs under clothes, a blow job once. Draco told her, in all his young ineloquence, to show him how she "wanked". And then he learned how to make her come. He had enjoyed that especially. It made him feel powerful. And they had sex. Three times. It could have been more, but she began to act like she owned him, publicly flaunting her "relationship" with the rich Malfoy heir.

The last time they had sex was in his bed while his dorm mates were still at dinner. He _didn't_ see to her pleasure, though she didn't seem to mind, and after he came, and they were lying side by side, she said, "Oh, Drakie-poo, that was wonderful and just think how great it will be when I come to the Malfoy Manor over break. I'm sure father will let me."

And that was it. He never touched her again. He didn't invite her to the manor. And he made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that not only did she mean nothing to him, but she was never to call him that again. He left her in a hallway sobbing.

Draco shook his head. He was an asshole. She may have overstepped her bounds a bit, but he could have been more considerate, nicer. He could see now that the experience with Pansy set the tone for the rest of his sex life and how he was with all the girls he had been with. He didn't promise more than he could deliver, but he knew that for some, even if they said they were okay with what they were getting, like Pansy, they harbored secret hopes of more. But he never gave anyone more and he never had sex in his own bed again. He was an asshole.

It couldn't be like that with Granger. Because of who she was. And because of who he was. And there were other reasons, but he wasn't ready to admit those yet.

He couldn't do what she wanted. He wasn't what she needed. She was Hermione Granger. Practically a legend even if she didn't know it. A muggleborn in the wizarding world. An outsider who hadn't let anything bring her down. She was incredibly powerful, smart, and as clever as they come. She had fought grown Death Eaters at fifteen. And no matter what was thrown at her, she remained fair and kind-hearted.

Granger needed a good man. Saint Potter. Thomas. That Roger Davies bloke. Someone like the late Cedric Diggory. Not a Malfoy.

The arched doors leading into the Great Hall were huge and old, but still easy to open. Hermione tilted her head back and looked up at the point of the frame. Why did anyone need a door so insurmountable? Yes, it was impressive and imposing, but it was all for show. That sort of pretense was of no use to Hermione.

Taking a fortifying breath, Hermione lifted her chin a little and strode into the Great Hall. Breakfast was in full-swing and she took her place next to Harry and across from Ron. It was funny how over the years, students tended to claim their spots. It wasn't liked they had assigned seating, but still they always sat in the same spot.

She could see the Slytherin table – as well as who was not currently sitting at it – from "her" seat. Every mealtime at the Gryffindor table since the spot at had become hers, she had a clear view of Malfoy. Harry did too. Ron didn't.

Could seeing something, even something you thought you hated, everyday – many times a day – for years, somehow affect your feelings about it? Could simple familiarity make you more likely to accept that thing? To care for it? To the point that if it was removed, you would feel the loss of it? It was an odd thought.

Draco turned his head automatically, the way one does when they catch a movement out of the corner of their eye, to see Granger walking up the aisle of the small Arithmancy classroom. She smiled a casual, non-descript smile. Draco didn't know what to make of it, but nodded his head in return.

He hadn't known what to expect, but he felt like whatever was supposed to come his way still hadn't been delivered. It put him slightly on edge.

And that little smile – she might give a cat that smile – was all he got. No awkward glances. No knowing stares. No star-struck I've-just-been-kissed-by-Draco-Malfoy look that he was used to. Not even a cold shoulder. Just nothing. It was like nothing had happened.

But that was what he wanted right?

Hermione managed to do a good job of acting unaffected all the way through Friday's prefect meeting. Throughout the week she was brief, but not unfriendly, and didn't shy away from discussing their head duties. Their Thursday meeting was very productive – they made some changes to the tutoring program, decided that Draco would handle the Yule Ball, while Hermione continued to oversee the prefects. She was rather proud of herself.

But by the time she sat down for dinner Friday night, the act was starting to get hard to keep up. She needed resolution, some sort of closure. And not just about the kiss. There was still that _other_ thing hanging over them. She was torn between feeling relieved that he was late and she didn't have to face him, and wanting to grab him, feed him veritaserum, and begin the inquisition.

The large door creaked open and Malfoy slipped inside. Many heads turned at the noise, including Hermione's. But she turned back quickly and, a little too loudly, said, "So, Lavender, how are you going to wear your hair for the ball?"

Lavender paused with her fork half way to her open mouth and gaped at her right along with Ron, Ginny and Harry, whose face was scrunched up in perplexity. She looked at all the stunned faces and frowned.

"What?"

Hermione sat in the quiet common room late Friday night. Draco was still missing in action. He hadn't spent a single evening there since she'd dragged him to the decorations room. The cubby labeled, "Draco Malfoy, Head Boy" was cleaned out, and having seen several notes in it yesterday, it was obvious to Hermione that Draco had been there. So, yes, he was avoiding her and that fact seemed to amplify Hermione's need for closure.

Leaning her elbows on her desk, she rested her forehead on her palms and stared down at the smooth wood of her desk. After several long minutes she decided that it couldn't be ignored, even if she had to be the one to bring it up.

Steeling her courage, she ripped off a small square of parchment and dipped her quill in ink.

_I think we need to talk._

_- Hermione_


	21. You don't know what you're asking for

It was so quiet.

Muffled and misty grey.

Fat snowflakes were slowly falling, straight down, unhurried, as if they all the time in the world to make their way to the ground. Hogwarts was encased in a hush.

Large flakes clung to Draco's dark lashes, or hit his cheeks and melted. His nose stung from the cold. The Quidditch match was over. Potter caught the snitch.

Draco just wanted to fly, fast, but the lazy pace of the snow wouldn't allow it, so he guided his broom next to the trees at the edge of the dark forest feeling sheltered, at least on one side.

Her moan repeated in his head, sounding far away right now. For almost an entire week it had been playing, over and over, testing his resolve.

Pansy was right. The last time he'd had sex was over break before the term began. There was a curvy Ravenclaw, Victoria, at the end of sixth year, and Daphne came to the Manor a few times over the summer when his mother was in France.

Granger felt different than both of them. She was shorter. Tinier. Like a little bird. But she had more spark, more energy, more fire. And that fire lived in her kiss. God that kiss…

It was just a goddamned kiss! It was unreasonable for him to be so affected.

Draco wondered about Viktor Krum. Had the Quidditch star felt like he was drowning when he kissed her outside the Yule Ball? Had he struggled to not pin her to the castle wall and take her right there?

Draco did everything he could to push it away. He only talked to her when absolutely necessary. He only went to the HCR when he was sure she wouldn't be there. He avoided looking at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. He even tried to keep his eyes on his parchment in classes they had together.

It was a lost cause. Every time that curly mop came into view, he was inundated with his thoughts of her. Of kissing her, of claiming her mouth, in that glowing room swarming with fairy lights. Of kissing her again. And of what it might be like to make love to her.

Make love.

Draco stood just outside the HCR, staring at the painting. It was unlike any other in the castle and Draco wondered why Dumbledore chose to have it be the entrance to the Head's Common Room. The exotic woman's look was strange…knowing. And he didn't understand about the floating umbrella. But for some reason, Draco felt this painting was about him.

The square of parchment in his pocket had begun to lose its crispness and Draco flicked at a bent corner.

He didn't know what to say to her.

Hermione drummed her nails in a fast staccato on the frosted glass of the window, her mood out of sync with the quiet landscape. In the stillness of the heavy snowfall, the pitch appeared as a ghost of itself, an idea that hadn't fully formed.

Malfoy lost again. While she didn't want her best friend to lose, it tugged at her heart. She'd learned what it was like to never be good enough. Malfoy had been her teacher.

Hermione was confused. He _did_ kiss her, and he seemed to like it – a lot, so why was he avoiding her? She wondered if her laissez-faire attitude earlier than week had backfired. But what was she supposed to do? It wasn't like she wasn't in love with him.

Maybe he regretted kissing her. Maybe she was right about him not wanting to lower himself to touch a mudblood. Maybe he was cursing himself for letting his hormones get the best of him.

Hermione looked around the room for something to occupy her nervous energy. She made herself a cup of tea in the kitchen, decided the fire needed refreshing, walked back to the window to see the grounds still coated in the haze of misty white. A book was out of place on the bookshelf, or it would have been if they were in alphabetical order. Tennyson, Thoreau, Tolstoy…. The portrait door squeaked as it opened and Hermione paused at the sound, and then turned around.

Draco leaned against the edge of prefects' desk with his arms folded across his chest protectively and held her gaze.

Right. This is why he was avoiding her. He was alone with her. Secreted away in this private room. All he wanted to do was walk over there, grab the hated curls and sink into the heat of her mouth.

From across the room he could almost see the sparks flying off her. He could feel his cold cheeks prickling as they thawed from being outside for so long. Apparently he wasn't the only one at a loss for words. He waited.

For many long moments they just looked at each other across the room. Both knowing the unsaid things between them, once brought out, could change everything.

Finally, Draco raised an eyebrow and Hermione squared her stance. Summoning her courage, she charged in.

"Do you think that avoiding me will make me take it back?" she said plainly.

His eyes focused on her, but he didn't respond or move. His jaw was set hard and Hermione watched the tiny muscles there pulse. When it appeared that he wasn't going to answer she said quietly, "I meant what I said...I still do."

Draco just stood there with a hard expression. She threw her arms up in exasperation.

"Jesus Christ Malfoy! I didn't ask you to hold my hand and declare your love for me! You've probably stuck your dick in half the girls here, but if I'm so repulsive to you, you could just say 'no'."

His eyes narrowed suddenly. He had NOT slept with half the girls at Hogwarts and he was insulted that she still thought he did. And repulsive? Did she remember that he kissed her? It was less than a week ago and it was fucking brilliant! Wasn't it painfully obvious that he'd used every ounce of restraint he had to not touch every inch of her? Didn't she know how badly he wanted to do it again? Now? Draco ground his teeth together, trying to control the irritation buzzing in his veins.

"Get your facts straight Granger."

Fine, so he wasn't a slag. He just thought she was disgusting. Super. She rolled her eyes.

"Well. Then let me apologize. I'm sure I must have offended your pureblood sensibilities. I'm sure it must be awful for your superior mind to have to listen to such a vile suggestion from a mudblood!" She glared hard at him and felt years of hurt and anger, hidden in deep recesses, swell and rush over her. Her hands balled into fists and her face transformed into a fierce scowl. "What? Isn't there some comment about my inherent inferiority dying to come out of your thick pureblood skull?"

The icy fire in Draco's eyes sparked and his mouth set in a tight line. So it's finally come to this. The karmic build up of all his past wrongs. In her eyes he hadn't changed, and he found the idea cut him deeply.

In an instant he was standing before her, gripping her arms tightly and shaking with anger. The amber, orange, and jasmine were suddenly there too. He clenched his teeth.

In a menacing growl, he told her what he thought of her assumptions. "Granger, you've beat me in every subject for almost seven years and you're the best person I know. So, I think I've got it through my _thick pureblood skull_ that the whole mudblood business is crap!"

Hermione's eyes were wide as she stared up at him, the expression of hurt and indignation still on her face, but her eyes confused and searching. She felt frozen in place, with her head titled back, fixed on her awareness of how close he was and on his hands wrapped tightly around her arms.

He moved forward ever so slightly and Hermione thought he might kiss her. And then, it was over. He let go and moved away.

He sat down tiredly in the leather chair and leaned forward, running his long fingers through the silky blonde hair. Sighing, he looked up at her.

"I'm sorry."

The apology hung in the air between them making up for lost time. The wounded expression slipped off Hermione's face and she felt like she her insides had rushed onto the floor. There it was. The apology she had secretly hoped for, for years. Now it seemed so small, so unimportant. She already knew.

"Me too," she said softly dropping her eyes.

Draco wondered what she was sorry for, but let it go. That wasn't really what this about. He just needed to tell her so that she knew without a doubt, that none of this was about blood for him, and nothing would ever be again.

They were both silent of several long moments, and when Draco looked up again she was still looking at her feet. Something in her expression and posture, an awkwardness maybe, reminded him of her inexperience. It was endearing and sexy at the same time, in a way that Draco couldn't begin to explain.

For most people, sex was the culmination of series of experiences, an erosion of innocence over time. But not for Granger. For her it would be a singular destruction of her purity. One swing of the sword to catapult her to the other side.

"You do know that people usually work up to their first time, right?"

Hermione's head shot up and she blushed, but then thought better of it, and lifted her chin. She refused to be embarrassed about it. "I know… but… I'm ready."

Draco considered. That could be true. She might be ready. But Draco doubted that she was ready for him. His fantasies involving the Gryffindor Princess were not exactly the sweet and tender sort. The image of a heavy blush staining her neck and chest as he whispered dirty words in her ear flitted through his mind. He wondered what she imagined it would be like.

"Granger, you need someone gentle and good, who will whisper romantic platitudes in your ear. I'm not that guy."

"I think we both know you're not that guy," she said still blushing, and almost smiling at the mention of whispers. She looked down again. "I told you that wasn't what I wanted," she said softly. She started to fidget under the strain of the uncomfortable subject. Hermione looked over at the window and then back at Malfoy.

Draco's brows bunched in a scowl. The war raging in him was making him lose his patience. He needed her to confirm in some way that his reasons for saying 'no' were spot on. But not only was she not giving him anything to work with, she was making it harder for him to deny her. He lowered his face into his hands, pressing his palms to his eyes. He felt beaten.

"Why me?"

Hermione paused before answering. In her mind, it was very simple. "Because you're my friend, you're experienced, and I trust you."

Draco looked up at her. She trusted him?

"Look Malfoy, I'm not looking for a relationship or a regular thing, or something like that. I just...I want to do this, and I'd like it to be with you. If you don't want to, just say 'no' already and we can forget about it. I'll find someone else."

The scowl returned. Her blithe attitude about the whole thing irked him, but as much as he was insisting that he wasn't the man for the job, 'I'll find someone else' irked him even more.

Draco stood up, frowning and headed for the door. He stopped with his back to her just before pulling the handle.

"You don't know what you are asking for, Granger."

Wednesday was the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw game. The sky must have exhausted itself because it hadn't snowed since Sunday. It was bright and crisp and freezing. The streams of students walking back to the castle after Hufflepuff's surprise victory were heavily bundled and moved quickly for the warmth of the castle.

Ahead of him, Draco could see the mess of curls exploding out from under a grey knit cap. Though it didn't make sense to Draco, things were easier for them after their talk. He resumed his use of the HCR for studying and his head duties, albeit not quite as often, and they'd had many conversations since then. They kept to light topics, school, prefects, and the Yule Ball that was a week away. It seemed as though they had come to some kind of unspoken agreement not to discuss _it_ again. Which, unfortunately, didn't stop Draco's imagination one bit.

His fantasies of her grew exponentially, both in frequency and in depth. He imagined everything from small touches, a lick on her wrist, a bite on her ankle, to more explicit scenes. Her hands bound over her head, or pushing her over a school desk in the small Arithmancy classroom and pounding into her ruthlessly. He imagined her legs tied open to a chair in the library. Taking her against the wall of his bath. He imagined shoving his fingers into her while she stood behind a table at the back of a full potions classroom. He imagined fucking her in front of Potter.

But most of all, he imagined what he would do that first time, if he did say yes. There were a hundred ways Draco wanted to take Hermione Granger, and his mind eagerly explored all of them.

A tinkling laughter caught his attention and he looked ahead to see Granger with her face turned to the side. Her little nose was red and her cheeks were stained prettily. The Boy Wonder was laughing too and Draco wondered what kinds of things made Gryffindors laugh.

A boy in Ravenclaw colors jogged up next to Granger and said something. Terry Boot. Draco watched her say something to her friends and then pair off with Boot. He was beaming smiles at her and she was politely smiling back. Draco's eyes narrowed as he placed his hand at the small of her back.

They were walking slowly, and the majority of students had already rushed ahead, leaving only a smattering still making their way to the castle. Draco slowed his pace so that he could stay behind them.

He remembered hearing that Granger had turned Boot down for the Halloween Masque. Would she turn him down again? Would he be her 'someone else'? From what he knew, Boot was also _experienced,_ and he wondered if Granger knew that.

The doors to the castle were wide open to accommodate the returning students. He watched Boot pull Granger by the elbow to a corner of the Entrance Hall. A swell of anxiety filled him. Her back was to him and he wished he could see her face.

As he neared he saw Boot's arm drop to his side and Granger's hand go to his sleeve. Boot's face fell. Draco knew at once what had happened and the anxiety was replaced by a wave of relief. He watched the Ravenclaw walk away quickly and then snuck up behind the small girl in the grey cap.

"Now Granger," he said speaking low in her ear, "if you keep turning guys down like that, all the broom closets at Hogwarts will go to waste. I'm sure he had a special one picked out just for you."

She turned around and gave him the warmest smile he he'd ever received.

Harry bounded down the steps two at a time and came to a skidding halt at the base. Alone in the Entrance Hall were his best friend and former nemesis, Draco Malfoy.

She was laughing.

_He_ was laughing.

He felt like shouting out "Aha!"

For the last couple of months, Harry Potter had begun to suspect that Hermione and Malfoy were becoming friends. And as unlikely and strange as that would be, he was more intrigued than mortified. Ron would be mortified. But Harry's curiosity was peaked.

Since that day in the Quidditch stands, after they'd had a fight, he started to observe closely. She was behaving the way she did when she and Ron had a fight. Only in Ron's case, she wasn't as upset – probably since she was usually in the right. Malfoy, Harry thought, probably provided more of a challenge for her quick mind than Ron did.

He knew he should be upset, or feel betrayed. But instead he felt hopeful. If two people from such opposite ends, who had despised each other as they had, could become friends, maybe the war, maybe giving his life, would be worth it.

Harry watched Draco smile softly down at Hermione, and she dropped her eyes shyly to the floor. He kind of wished he could hear them, but he didn't like the idea of eavesdropping on his best friend, so he walked toward them.

Draco turned at the sound of the footsteps. Potter. He felt like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Draco Malfoy gallivanting around with one of Potter's prizes. But Potter only gave him a brief glance and maybe a kind of half-smile, half-smirk.

"Hello Malfoy," Potter said as if he'd said it a hundred times before.

"Potter."

"'Mione," Harry kissed her on the cheek and Draco's brows furrowed. "Ginny's looking for you. Something about dresses and the Yule Ball, I think," he said with a bit of a grimace.

Hermione returned the grimace. Dress-up wasn't her cup of tea, but she loved Ginny and was starting to actually like Lavender, so she hurried off leaving the two former enemies alone. They looked at each other awkwardly for a second and then Draco looked away.

It was time.

"Where are you heading, Potter?"

"Meeting with Dumbledore in ten minutes."

Draco nodded and took a deep breath. "Can I walk you up? There's something I'd like to discuss."

The questioning look that Potter sometimes sent Draco over the House tables made an appearance for a brief second and then was gone, replaced by a closed expression a Slytherin could be proud of. He nodded and turned up the staircase.

Draco hadn't really prepared for this, and now that the time was here, he struggled for how to begin. By the time they made it to the third floor, he still hadn't said anything.

Harry gave him a sideways glance and wondered what this was all about. Hermione flitted through his mind, smiling shyly, and a streak of concern bolted through him. He was getting impatient.

"Maybe you should just spit it out, Malfoy."

Draco looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath, and then turned to Potter.

"I'm with you," he blurted out.

"What?"

Draco really wanted to say something smart, but this was too serious. He needed Potter to understand. "I mean, I'm on your side," Draco was actually shaking with nervousness and he fought to not let it show. "I'll help fight Voldemort."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. That was _so_ not what he was expecting. He blinked at the tall blonde, who was looking hard at him, defiantly, daring him to laugh, or punch him, or reject him.

The scrutinizing look came back, and Potter didn't try to hide it. Rather, he stared into Malfoy's eyes for a long time, as though he could see something there that no one else could. Draco shift his weight from one foot to the other, desperate to look away, but determined not to.

Then, without warning, Harry's expression changed and he nodded once like he'd made up his mind. "There will be an Order meeting over break. I'll send you an owl with the details."

Draco was gob smacked.

"That's it? I thought you 'd…I don't know, make me take veritaserum or something."

Harry shrugged and turned to continue walking. "I don't need it, but some of the other Order members might."

When Draco didn't object, Harry was even more sure that the Slytherin was telling the truth. For the remaining two floors, Harry tried to find out what Malfoy knew from living at the Manor. It wasn't as much as he'd hoped for, but there were a few nuggets of potentially useful information. He didn't tell Malfoy anything about the Order that wasn't easily found out. He did believe him, but he'd wait to see how the Order wanted to proceed.

When Harry got to the gargoyle, Draco turned to look at him. An incredible weight had been lifted off him, and that alone gave Draco the gratitude he needed.

"Thank you, Potter."

"Thank _you,_ Malfoy," Harry responded genuinely because he understood the value of having Malfoy on their side. Standing there in front of the entrance to the Headmaster's office, Harry thought about what this would do, what it would change, in all their relationships. He thought about Hermione and the uncharacteristic shy smile she wore a few minutes earlier. He climbed into the rotating stairwell, and just as the column began to move, he gave the tall blonde a warning.

"Malfoy…don't hurt her."

Draco walked down the stairs leading to the sixth floor corridor. Would they make him take veritaserum? He was okay with that. He thought he should continue to be ambiguous about his allegiance – especially around Slytherins. Don't hurt her? Did Potter know? _What exactly_ did Potter know?

As he rounded a corner, the door to the decorations room came into view. A stroke of brilliance hit him and he whispered the password.


	22. Tell me what you want

It's hard to _not_ look at beauty. When a beautiful woman, or man, or flower or painting crosses your path, your eyes follow, just as sunflowers turn their heads to follow the sun.

And that is what happened to Draco when Hermione Granger walked into the Yule Ball and stopped, three paces in, stunned, with her small pink mouth parted on a gasp.

He wanted _not_ to look, but his eyes followed her anyway.

A cool breeze caressed Hermione's knees and thigh through the long slit up the left leg in her gold dress. She smoothed her hand over the soft, already flat fabric nervously. Looking ahead to the warm light spilling from the open doors, she thought it might be warmer in the hall. The gold light was tumbling out into the hall in a cloudy haze and she thought back to all the boxes of decorations she and Malfoy had looked through – the stars and icicles and fake snow, tinsel and garland – and she wondered what she was about to find. But as she turned into the light, all wondering was wiped from her mind, as she stood agape at the scene before her.

Thousands, hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of tiny glowing fairy lights filled the Great Hall, slowly undulating and bathing everything in rich gold. They clustered at the ceiling and in empty corners, and swirled in the displaced air as people moved through the room. She looked down at her arms where spots of light moved over her. The effect was devastating.

Hermione could barely breathe. It was like walking into a dream. Her own dream, where she could still feel her face in his hand, his fingertips high on her cheek.

She felt her heartbeat quicken and she looked through the moving light, to the other side of the hall, to find arctic grey eyes locked on hers.

It was for her.

A private message between them.

Because misery loves company and he wanted her to know how miserable he was. How he remembered kissing her at every moment, and how it possessed him, tortured him, and because he didn't know another way to tell her.

The easy way they had found this last week was obliterated in the heavy weight of the silent communication they were sharing. Hermione was suddenly aware of the rise and fall of her chest, of the muffled, far-away sounds of people milling about her, and of the heat she felt was consuming her.

She might have stood there forever, just inside the doorway, stuck in that smoldering stare, if a familiar voice hadn't jolted her out of her trance.

"We were wondering when you were going to make your grand entrance," Harry said, kissing her on the cheek and following her gaze.

"Huh?" was her eloquent reply.

Harry frowned, but there was a resigned mirth in his eyes. "Come on, over here," he said as he led her over to their friends. When they arrived at the small gathering, Harry turned her away so that she might actually be able to hold a conversation.

For Draco though, it was just about the worst thing Potter could have done. When the Head Girl turned around he felt his heart fall into his stomach. The shimmery sheath dress she wore left her entire back bare – from her delicate shoulders, down just past the dip of the small of her back. A set of impossibly thin straps rayed out at each shoulder to crisscross her back and spread out just under each shoulder blade. His eyes were glued to the indent of her spine as it ended…

"It's really rather breathtaking, isn't it?" a voice came over his shoulder. Draco's heart leapt. But before he could panic fully, Dumbledore waved his hand through the air, indicating the lights, as if he'd meant that all along. Draco wasn't convinced. "I think this may be the most stunning Yule Ball Hogwarts has ever seen."

"Thank you, Professor."

"You must have had some wonderful inspiration." The headmaster smiled wistfully and looked into Draco's eyes then, and Draco didn't answer.

"I was hoping, Mr. Malfoy, that as Head Boy, yourself and the Head Girl could start our lovely ball off on the right foot, by opening the dance". Draco had the audacity to raise an eyebrow at the Headmaster, whose face remained neutral. Draco thought he could see the old man's eyebrow twitching in a held-back reply.

"Yes, Sir."

"Wonderful. Wonderful. Well, I'll let you see to it. Have a splendid time this evening Draco," the Headmaster said, cuffing Draco on the shoulder before walking away.

As soon as Dumbledore was out of range, Draco groaned.

Hermione welcomed Harry's strategy. She looked at Ginny's moving glossy lips and tried to focus her attention on her friends. Malfoy had unbalanced her, just as he had when he kissed her. With the lights, with his grey eyes.

Draco watched Ron Weasley's eyes narrow as he approached the cluster of Gryffindors. A wicked smirk planted itself on Draco's face as if it just couldn't help itself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Potter look at him anxiously.

The expanse of bare skin was like a magnet, and Draco's fingertips brushed the warm skin at the base of her spine as he leaned over her shoulder.

"Would you do me the honor, Granger?" he spoke into her ear, keeping his eyes on the redhead. Draco felt her intake of breath and broke his gaze with Weasley as she turned to look up at him.

Surprise was written all over face, but before she could say anything, Weasley stepped forward with an angry expression.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, seeing as how I wasn't talking to you, Weasel, you _are_ excused."

The tension among the assembled group grew as everyone watched the two nervously.

"What are you on about, Malfoy," Ron said, his fists curling at his sides.

"I'm pretty sure I was asking the lady to dance," he responded coolly.

If anyone had not been watching the two rivals, they might have seen Ginny and Lavender's mouths both open in surprise. Malfoy had used the words 'honor' and 'lady' regarding _Hermione_ AND was asking her to dance…the first dance…in front of everyone. Lavender put her hand on Ron's forearm.

Draco saw his opportunity and held his hand out to her. "May I?" he asked seriously. Hermione looked at his outstretched hand and in the back of her mind registered the collective gasp around her as she placed her hand in his.

The walk onto the empty dance floor was surreal. Both head students could feel eyes crawling over them and the whispers were anything but hushed. It wasn't at all unusual for the Head Girl and Boy to open the Yule Ball with the first dance, and she supposed that was Malfoy's intention. But judging from the murmurs, Hogwarts wasn't ready to see _them_ hand in hand. If they only knew. Hermione had a desire to laugh. But when Draco twirled her into his arms, and locked his gaze on her once again, the desire vanished along with everything else that wasn't Draco Malfoy.

Draco's fingers itched to close on the small hand resting on his.

Holding her again, holding the curve of her hip, in the swirling golden light again, made his breath hitch in his chest. What had he meant by filling the hall with their fairy lights? Now it seemed like the worst idea, as it only made this harder for him.

He set his jaw into a mask of formality and gracefully moved them across the floor, every step perfect, giving nothing away, denying his body screaming at him to haul her into him and take her. Right there any way he could.

With one hand resting on his shoulder and the other in his outstretched hand, Hermione could feel the rigidity in his body, and how it contradicted his easy, graceful movements. He was a master of disguise and she knew that now. She was learning to read his eyes. They were piercing, hard, full, and she couldn't look away.

"Draco…it's exquisite," she said conversationally to maintain the illusion of being unaffected. Both for his benefit as much as for the prying eyes. As soon as she said it though, she saw it for the acknowledgement of their kiss that it was, and felt her face heat up.

Draco was holding on by a thread, every ounce of restraint tied into his tense muscles, and the only thing he heard was his name. Not Malfoy, but Draco. 'Draco'. Again, 'Draco'. His brain was tripping over the roll of her tongue as her mouth gave birth to it, and the pursed shape of her lips when she finally pushed it out. 'Draco'.

In another part of his mind, he was telling her that _she_ was exquisite. But it stayed there, repeating until it was too late.

Dumbledore led McGonagall onto the floor, and a second later Ginny dragged Harry out too. They both let out a sigh as the dance floor filled and Hermione smiled warmly at him to share her relief.

It was that moment – right then – that everything changed. That small, inconsequential moment when she smiled up at him, that finally broke him.

And Hermione knew it. She saw it. A subtle shift in those crystal grey eyes, from frustration to _intention._ The smile slipped slowly from her face as full recognition dawned on her and her eyes grew wide in response. She felt the flush race from her cheeks down her chest and she struggled to breath normally. His long fingers tightened on her hip hard and she gasped.

The music was ending, or changing, and the fact that they were surrounded by people was lost on both of them as Draco dragged Hermione sharply to him so their bodies were pressed together. She let out a tiny sound, a whimper maybe, and her eyes darted to the side to see anyone watching. But then he was leaning forward, his warm breath washing over her ear and her eyelids closed.

"Tell me what you want Granger," his voice was low and rough and demanding. She felt his lips dragging over her neck. A tight coil of need bloomed in her lower abdomen and she wanted to arch her body into him. Her head tilted to bare her neck for him instinctually.

"Show me."

He groaned against her skin. "Yes… Fuck yes."

And then he was walking away and Hermione was staring at his back, jaw trembling and fighting to gain composure. She gulped and looked around her. No one was looking. Not one person seemed to be looking at her. She placed a steadying hand on her stomach and took a deep breath.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Ron seemed to be at her side all night, competing with her dazed state of mind for attention, insisting on dancing, kissing her check the way Harry did.

Ginny rescued her more than once to drag her to a quiet corner, or to get punch. The littlest Weasley was alive with playfulness, and Hermione was moderately distracted from the flutter of nerves that had set up shop in her stomach. However, Ginny also seemed intent on bringing up the strange occurrence of Malfoy asking Hermione to dance. As well as the fact that the tall blonde had come to a dance without a date for the first time ever, however irrelevant that seemed to Hermione.

No, Draco Malfoy did not come with his date. He couldn't bring himself to ask her. And she came alone too, and maybe her reasons were the same as his, but she wasn't ready to admit them yet, not even to herself.

Yes. He said yes. Hermione's mind couldn't move past this one thing. Last night as she peeled off her dress and pulled on her pjs, when she climbed into bed and stared up at the scarlet canopy of her bed. This morning as she showered then dried her hair, and put on her uniform. As she climbed into the carriage with her friends, all the way to Hogsmeade Station. Yes. He said yes. She was going to have sex. She was going to have sex with Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy was going to see her naked.

Which is exactly what Draco Malfoy was thinking as he sat across from her in the empty carriage on its way back to the castle. He was going to see Hermione Granger naked. How many times had he imagined it? How many times had he stroked his hard cock, wondering if her tits looked anything like he pictured them? What was the exact color of her nipples? Of her pussy lips? What did she taste like?

Sitting across from her in the empty carriage, Draco watched as she looked everywhere but at him. He could feel her nervousness radiating off her. He smirked, feeling a little proud of being able to unsettle the indomitable witch in this way. He couldn't deny the smug pride he now felt at the idea of being _her_ first. The first to sink into her. Ever.

From the moment she smiled at him on the dance floor, from the moment that he had succumbed, Draco felt like he had returned to himself. The confusion was gone. The battle was over. And just when it seemed that he'd lost, he realized that he won. He was going to have her under him, open for him.

But he wouldn't, couldn't, just take her. Draco wanted her to give herself to him. And not in the way you hand over your wallet to a mugger in hopes that he won't hurt you. He wanted something more from her, something more complete, something total. He wanted her so undone that she would beg him, plead with him to take her.

They rode in silence, the falling snow scurrying around the protective barrier spelled over the carriage.

Hermione's nerves were frayed and raw and she was glad that Malfoy wasn't pressing her right now. It was all she could do to sit still across from him, feeling his gaze trying to penetrate her. She was terrified. That was true. But she was also so absorbed in the thrill, her curiosity and her excitement that she could barely stand it. She wondered what it would be like, and when she couldn't form a picture in her head, she decided that she had absolutely no idea, and she would just let Malfoy lead her. That was the whole point right?

When they reached Hogwarts, they climbed out of the carriage and out of the barrier and warming charm. The walk up to the steps was slowly, both being careful not to slip in the blanket of snow that coated every thing. Draco watched the white snowflakes catch in Granger's curls as he walked a step behind her.

When they reached the big oak doors, she went to pull the handle and Draco's fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Tonight Granger. Come tonight."

She swallowed and nodded.

Hermione stood in front of his door with her heart pounding in her chest. She took slow, deep breaths and tried to calm the rampaging butterflies beating their wings against her stomach.

She looked at her feet. There was a large scuff on her right toe. She groaned. Somehow, with all her scattered nerves, she had completely forgotten to change out of her uniform. Hermione gave an internal shrug. She probably wouldn't be dressed for long anyway – and this thought sent a fresh bout of flutters through her.

She closed her eyes and summoned every ounce of courage she could find. _Just do it, Hermione. Don't think. Just…knock. Now._

Draco stood before her, barefoot, shirt untucked and sleeves rolled up, a book closed around his finger where he had left off, dangling from his hand. He moved his hand up on the frame and opened the door a little wider. Hermione steeled her nerves and walked underneath his arm into the large softly lit room.

She stood by the bed, awkwardly and fingered the hem of her skirt. Draco stood by the door, looking at her, drinking her in. He wanted to remember this. He wanted to remember Hermione Granger, pure, untouched, standing next to _his_ bed and waiting for him.


	23. You have to do everything I say

**A/N: This story is marked MA/NC17. Acts of a sexual nature follow. (snicker, that's why you're reading it, right) If, for some reason, something happens to this story here, it is also archived at . **

**Happy reading!**

--

"You have to do everything I say."

Draco's warm, moist breath fanned down her neck and Hermione's stomach flip-flopped. His voice was low, sultry, commanding.

He was behind her. So close she could feel the heat from his body radiating off him. Mingling with hers.

She lifted her chin slightly and gave a single tiny nod.

Draco moved to the foot of the bed with his back to the large, gilt mirror leaning against the wall. He was watching her.

He was calm, intent, and his clear, light eyes glittered with hunger. He exuded a level of composure and control that was unheard of for someone his age, and for many older wizards as well.

The way he was watching her now, predatory and concentrated, was a kind of silent domination and he wielded it masterfully, as if it was as natural to him as breathing.

Hermione's heart beat loudly with anticipation. And with fear. Fear at her own longing for this man who had had hated her and tortured her for years. She felt like she was standing on the edge of an impossibly high cliff – knowing she was about to give her well being – her vulnerability – to a man she had many reasons not to trust. And yet, _not_ jumping wasn't an option.

She stood beside his bed feeling very small and quiet. Her thighs felt cold in the dark dungeon room.

"Take off your shoes and socks and come stand in front of me," he said silkily into the overwhelming silence of the room.

Her heart dropped into her stomach and she knew this was going to happen. This was actually going to happen. _Something_ was going to happen.

She toed off her shoes, keeping her eyes locked with his. He was pinning her, piercing her, with those crystal grey, sparkling eyes.

She bent and scrunched off one knee-high sock, and then the other, kicking them gently aside. She hesitated, pushing her fear down, trying to read his eyes, but all she found there were things she couldn't name.

Taking a deep breath, she walked toward him, heartbeat thrumming in her ears. She stopped directly in front of him and started back at him – hard – determined not to betray her inexperience, defying him to laugh at her or hurt her.

Draco let a small smile slip onto his face at her determination and bravery. This witch, this small, powerful woman who had all the answers with everyone else, was giving him, and him alone, this one chance to be on top. And though Draco would never admit it, he was truly honored.

She relaxed slightly at his smile and the bit of warmth in his expression, but her reprieve was gone the next instant as he reached out and grabbed her Gryffindor Red tie at the knot and gently yanked her forward. She inhaled sharply.

Draco's heart thumped hard in his chest. His eyes fell to her parted lips. He wanted that. He wanted to swallow her, to have her embedded totally inside him. But he held back. If he kissed her now it would be over.

His other hand came up and he deftly loosened the tie completely. Hermione drew a slow, surprised breath inward, eyes wide, as he pulled the silk slowly, deliberately, so that it slithered over the back of her neck in a promise of more.

Draco claimed the tie, making sure she saw it going into his pocket.

He walked around her, stopping behind her again, and she was suddenly confronted with a full view of herself, barefoot, curls wild, her white oxford a little crinkled, and standing stock still with Draco Malfoy towering behind her.

He reached long arms around her, and holding her gaze in the mirror, slipped the first button out of its hole.

Hermione struggled to control her breathing. She could see her chest rising and falling sharply. He was going to make her watch. Cruel.

Draco smoothly unhinged each tiny button all the way down, pulling the tails of her shirt out slowly – slowly enough to tell her that he knew the effect the fabric slipping against the skin of her stomach was having on her. His eyes burned into hers and he gave her a satisfied smirk.

The last button was undone and Draco let his arms fall back to his sides as he took her in. The sliver of her white bra was the only interruption on the light golden-brown skin that ran from her long throat to her flat belly. Draco moved a step back, leaving her shirt hanging barely open. He wouldn't take it from her.

"Take it off," he commanded calmly. He watched her swallow visibly. It would be harder for her this way. To admit that she wanted this, wanted to give this to him, despite everything. Draco watched her jaw clench before she brought her hands up to peel the white shirt away.

Draco felt his own heart speed up as her smooth shoulders and flat back were revealed to him, and he was hit again with the knowledge of what this brave, smart witch was giving him. It felt like the first _true_ demonstration of faith in him that anyone had ever shown him. And there was no way in hell he was going to fuck it up.

A small shiver washed over Hermione as she stood in front of the mirror – in front of Malfoy – in just her bra and pleated school skirt. Staring at her own reflection, a sort of erotic embarrassment filled her and she missed the stream of emotions that played over the Slytherin's face before the carefully controlled expression returned.

Hermione looked up at him. He was truly beautiful, and though she already knew that, it was like a new revelation, here, in this new and intimate setting. Tall, slim, with long, lean muscles from years of Quidditch. His perfect skin looked silky and warm and she had the strange urge to turn and lick slowly up his face. And his lips…they were a girl's lips, pink and lush, the lower lip a little plumper than the top, formed into a small pout. They were overtly sexual. And he knew it and used it to his advantage.

Draco moved up close behind her again and blatantly examined her body in the mirror. He could feel her almost crumple in on herself under his gaze as he watched her covered breasts heave with her breathing. She was beautifully awkward in her state of partial dress, and Draco had a wild impulse to rip the bra from her body so he could see her at last. He _needed_ to see her. Now.

Without touching her skin anywhere, Draco unlatched the bra in one motion. Her full breasts relaxed slightly as the fabric came away from her heated skin. He inhaled deeply, eyes glued to her flesh in the mirror, and still without touching her, he slid the straps down her arms until her breasts were bare before him.

Heat colored Hermione's cheeks as she watched him stare at her naked breasts. She looked up at his hair, at the bedpost, at his shoulder, trying to focus on anything other than how exposed she felt.

Blood rushed to Draco's cock. Her breasts were magnificent. It took a great deal of control to not reach out and claim them as his. They were full, rounded and her dusky pink nipples were already hardened into deliciously stiff peaks that winked and taunted him.

He walked around her slowly, like a victorious hunter circling his prey, letting his eyes roam all over her body, and finally stopping behind her again. He looked at her small back, followed her spine down to the edge of her skirt, resting low on her hips just at the point where the curve of her perfect ass started. He groaned inwardly and then leaned in so his breath caressed the shell of her ear. She closed her eyes and swallowed past the lump in her throat.

"Your tits are fucking perfect, Granger," he hissed roughly. She suddenly felt just a fingertip on both of her hard nipples. Her eyes shot open and she watched with a kind of lust-filled horror as he so softly circled with his index fingers only on the tips of her unbearably sensitive nipples.

With no other part of him touching her, she felt these two single points of contact like electric shocks straight to her pussy. She watched herself wobble slightly in the mirror.

Hermione's pulse raced and her eyelids fought to close as she watched a knowing smirk spread on Draco's pink mouth. Suddenly the tingling build-up in her nipples exploded as Draco pinched each nub tightly and rolled them between his fingers. She blushed deeply as desire shot through her like lightening and she could see herself panting, and feel the wetness flood her knickers.

Without warning, he pulled away and took a step back from her, leaving her in front of the mirror, flushed and wet. The bastard was teasing her.

"Turn around."

She did as instructed and turned to face the headboard, thankful to no longer be watching her body betray her. But Draco moved with her, standing behind her again so that she couldn't see him. She felt like a rabbit being stalked by a panther waiting in the shadows.

"Pull your knickers down to your knees," his voice was gravelly and hard, but there was a slight quiver too, so small that Hermione missed it. Not being able to see him was maddening.

Hermione thought, perhaps foolishly, that having her skirt on still would stem her embarrassment at this act, so she did it without hesitation. She squirmed a little to pull the white cotton down her thighs, careful not to lean over too much and give him a peek at her backside.

Standing up with her damp knickers snagged around her slim, strong thighs, Hermione instantly realized how wrong she was. She felt a hundred times more exposed than merely being naked. She felt like a naughty little girl who got caught masturbating, with her wet panties as proof. Her cheeks burned in shame and excitement, and a knot of desire coiled in her pussy. Did Draco know she would respond like this?

Draco waited, staring at the stretched fabric around her thighs, while she processed her position. It filled him with a bit of triumphant glee when she had pulled her knickers down so quickly, only to straighten and freeze at the picture she presented him. That was his little lioness, running headlong into the battle with no thought of the outcome – and he loved her for it.

When he couldn't wait another second to glimpse that round little ass that teased him at every turn, that she had rubbed against his cock in her sleep, he stepped towards her once again.

To Hermione, it felt like an eternity that she stood in that mortifying position until she heard him moving behind her. And then she felt the back of her skirt being lifted high up and the red blush that was staining her cheeks flew down her throat and chest. Thank God he couldn't see it.

Draco bit back a moan as he held the skirt up against her lower back. She was firm and smooth and round and there was one little freckle on the top of her left cheek. He closed his eyes and couldn't help the groan that slipped out as he let his hand cup the inside of one cheek and pull up a little. Her ass was so soft, and it ended in the perfect curve at her upper thighs. There were two tiny dimples at the top of her cleft and he let his fingertips trail over them, marking them in his mind.

"Bend over the bed," he said in tone that offered no room for negotiation.

Hermione felt herself being pushed forward gently by the hand holding her skirt up. She let her arms catch her and he pushed a little more so that she understood she was to lay flat.

What was he doing? Was this supposed to be sex? Had she been misinformed? Were the books she read wrong? Why did she feel so itchy and squirmy?

Her nipples rubbed against the blanket he slept under every night.

His large hands were on her again. Rubbing soft circles over the mounds with flat palms, warming her backside, inching closer to her mostly hidden pussy. Hermione pressed her legs closer together instinctively. And then he was spreading her ass cheeks, both hands pulling them apart. He held her there, open.

Hermione's eyes opened wide. He was looking her. Staring at the tight bud of her asshole. On purpose! There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. A testament to her utter humiliation. She wanted to melt into the mattress and disappear, but she couldn't even squirm in her shock at being bared like this.

"Spread your ass for me, Granger".

She didn't move.

He let go of her suddenly and brought his palm down on her ass in a loud 'smack' that broke the thick silence of the room. She jumped and let out a yelp that snapped her out of her shock.

Before she could react, Draco spanked her, hard and repeatedly, again and again, five, ten, twenty times, in very fast succession turning her cheeks a bright red. Then, just as suddenly, he stepped away from her.

Hermione stayed in position on the bed, frozen in shock, blinking rapidly and trying to catch her breath. Her upturned ass stung, tingled, as the cool air caressed it. She waited for her anger to surge through her for being treated like a very bad pet. She waited. And waited.

Instead, her mouth opened in a small "o" of discovery when she felt her pussy lips become drenched with wetness. It was a starting revelation, and she lay still for a few moments, red ass in the air, as she let it sink in.

She suddenly felt incredibly grateful to Draco, though admittedly, a little confused about why. Now humbled, as well as humiliated, in slow motion she brought her arms down along her sides and reached behind her to grasp the mounds of her ass. She shut her eyes tight and spread herself open wide for him.

Draco stood at the edge of the bed, turned away from her, eyes closed and a little unnerved by his reaction to the beautiful creature sprawled over his bed. He knew that this was not the night for some of his more extreme fantasies, but he had decided that other than that, he was not going to hold back. Draco's cock strained against his perfectly tailored charcoal wool trousers. Spanking Granger took him by surprise. He didn't feel violence like he thought he would, punishing her for not following his direction, but rather he fought with his desire to slam his dick into her and take her right then. Which could be fun…another time.

But he had wanted this for so long now, so badly, and though he had pushed it away, here it was, waiting for him. He was going to go slow and savor every moment. He would take his time with her. He still had so much to show her tonight.

When he regained his focus, Draco turned around and his insides lurched at the vision before him. In contradiction to every possible reaction she could have to his unexpected punishment, she lay there, legs together, a hand cupping each half of her red-blossomed ass, pulling herself open to his will.

Draco was floored. Her complete faith and trust in him made his chest swell with gratitude, but also with an intense longing. He vowed then that she wouldn't regret a single instance of this evening in his care.

He moved in swiftly and kneeled behind her, needing to put his lips on her.

_Anywhere. _

_Everywhere. _

He scattered small kisses on her two dimples and down, next to, and over the small fingers of her left hand. He stroked little kitten licks up the soft inside of her cleft, and then ducked down to seek her sex.

Her scent was of air and grass and hinted of the earth. It invaded him, and he felt like he had to get her on his tongue or he'd go insane. But he wanted to savor her too, piece by piece, and he made himself wait.

Starting at the peeking edge of her sex, Draco placed a long, flat lick up, just grazing over her asshole. She stiffened, but stayed still, and Draco continued his quest. He licked at her, coating the closed surface with saliva, and circled her asshole – alternating between flat broad strokes and short teasing strokes with the tip of his tongue. His body hummed with the glory of this intimate knowledge of her and drove him deeper.

Hermione wanted to scramble out from under him the moment she realized what Malfoy was going to do, but before she could move away he was on her. The hungry moans coming from him as he tongued her exposed asshole surprised her and excited her. She felt a perverted thrill at the idea that Draco Malfoy was licking her _there._

And then, the feeling of it, of his soft tongue swirling on the sensitive bud, hit her and she sucked in a deep breath, her eyes closing reflexively. She found herself pulling herself open more, as far as she could, while an intense need started to build low in her abdomen. When she felt Draco pushing into her, trying to get past the tight ring of muscle, her ass bucked in the air. Using both hands, Draco was pulling at her, his fingers pulling at the clenched bud to open it, as he pushed is tongue in farther. His fingers slid forward and battled with his tongue for entrance. Hermione writhed on the bed, eyes shut tightly and still holding her ass cheeks spread open. It felt incredible and she pushed back, wanting more, and mortified at her own perversion.

Draco carefully sunk one long finger into her forbidden hole, slowly, steadily and Hermione groaned loudly. Draco's breath caught in his throat. The sound, the feeling, the knowledge that he was doing this, _this,_ with Granger was overloading him. He gently pushed in further, licking at the area that had swallowed his digit, feeling the tiny muscles spasm and pulse, and then pulled out slowly and began to pump into her rhythmically, slow and deep, making her breath come out ragged and hard.

Hermione could feel sweat break out on her forehead as she tired to breath through the sensations flooding her. She shuddered at the image she knew she presented: bent over on Draco's bed, skirt flipped up onto her bare back, kickers pulled down around her thighs, pulling her own ass cheeks apart and writhing and bucking as Draco Malfoy plunged his finger into her asshole. It was awful and naughty and erotic and her pussy throbbed with want.

Draco pushed a second finger in and Hermione let out a deep animalistic grunt. The raw sound coming from the small, elegant woman stopped Draco in his pursuit. He responded with an equally visceral sound as he suddenly needed to feel her against him.

Draco stood up and roughly pulled her up by her upper arms. He held her body hard against his. Her back to his chest. The fullest contact he had allowed between them. Draco let out a ragged sigh of satisfaction that turned into a dangerous growl. He bared his teeth and dragged them down her neck, still gripping her arms.

"Did you like that?" he growled in her ear and then paused to nip at her neck. "You liked having your asshole fucked by my tongue, didn't you? You like having your ass stuffed don't you?"

She stood there letting his lewd words wash over her, more turned on than she thought she could ever be, and totally at a loss for what to do or think.

Draco buried his face in her curls and inhaled the amber, honey, orange, jasmine scent that his body had come to know as Granger. With each breath, it filled him, deeply and wholly. He loosened his hold on her as he smoothed his hands down her arms until both of his hands captured hers. He intertwined his fingers with hers and stayed there. The intimate and loving gesture keeping them both frozen and silent as it tried to say all the things they couldn't. And so they stood there, both with their eyes closed, secretly trying to commit the moment to memory.

Then Draco let go and bent to one knee behind her, sliding the cotton knickers down over her knees, slowly down her smooth calves, making sure to touch every inch he could under the guise of removing the fabric. He tucked his hand behind her knee and lifted up, unhooking the knickers from one foot, then the other. He balled the cotton and stuffed into his pocket with her tie. She would not be leaving with this.

He desperately wanted to see her. All of her. Draco stood and wrapped his fingers around her hips, his thumbs resting on the upper curve of her ass, nearly touching at the indent of her spine. Draco found the hook on her skirt at her right hip. Without removing his left hand from her other hip, he unhooked the skirt's latch and pulled the zipper down slowly.

Hermione felt her nipples harden further, jutting out into the air in front of her. Oh God. Her skirt. He was about to remove the last barrier. Even with what he had just done to her, the thought of being completely naked, exposed, in front of Malfoy made her tremble.

He didn't let the skirt fall, but kept his hands on her, palms flat on her hips, fingers caressing the fronts of her thighs, and dragged it down. Achingly slow. The scratchy wool firing her skin. He paused when he passed the juncture where her legs bent. Her uncovered pussy was just an inch beyond his long fingers, naked underneath the wool skirt. She felt his fingertips twitch and dig into her. Then the he was moving again, dragging it down, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. She felt herself being revealed, inch by inch, as the fabric slithered down and the cool air hit her. Her hips. Her backside. Her thighs. The backs of her knees.

The fabric of Malfoy's trousers rubbed against her naked ass. The crisp cotton of his shirt on her back. She could feel the long hard shaft of his cock pressed against her. He leaned over her again. His tongue tracing the shell of her ear. Hermione moaned and he sucked her earlobe.

"Lay on your back on the bed." His voice was husky and had a slight tremble. For the first time, Hermione became aware of just how much control he was exerting over himself. Why was he going so slow? Why didn't he just strip her and take her?

A shiver ran down her spine and she was acutely aware that she was completely naked and Draco was fully dressed. In a moment of panic, she thought that maybe he was going to humiliate her somehow. Leave her unfulfilled and mocking her. But the sounds he made, the raw hunger and lust in voice, reminded her that Draco Malfoy was, if nothing else, selfish. He _would_ have his way with her.

Swallowing her anxiety, Hermione moved onto the bed. She was unbelievably nervous about revealing her sex to him, to let him see _all_ of her. She knew it was irrational since he had just been in far more embarrassing places. She turned over, keeping her legs close together and laid down on her back in the middle of her bed. Looking up at the ceiling, she tried to overcome her fear, unable to look Draco in the eye. Afraid of the rejection she would see there.

It was the stuff of his most private dreams. This woman, so powerful, so beautiful, who had haunted him, laid out for him. Finally. In his bed. Curls fanned out around her head, a sea of pale caramel skin, tipped with rose. She was glorious in her nakedness.

Draco's heart hurt.

Her anxiety was palpable. He was torn between awe and heartbreak. How could she doubt herself? How could she not know how badly he wanted her? How beautiful he thought she was? How important, how special this was to him?

She looked every bit the scared virgin with her legs pressed together and her eyes darting around nervously. Draco walked to the side of the bed, his heart caught in his throat, and knelt down.

She turned her face away from him, an expression of shame etched on her features. Draco brushed the back of his hand along her exposed neck and leaned his forehead to her temple. He closed his eyes and searched for the courage to tell her what was in his heart.

"God. Look at you! You're so fucking exquisite, Hermione. You're so strong and good…" he trailed off, and the sound of her first name brought her attention away from her fear. "I know I can never live up to you, and that I don't deserve this, but every time I look at you, I…. You have no idea what you do to me. I want you so badly, Hermione. I'm so hard. My cock is so hard for you. I want to be inside you. Open your legs for me. Let me see you. Please."

Draco squeezed his eyes tight and stayed there for a moment trying to find his equilibrium, flushed and shaking inside at his confession and at the desperation in his voice.

He had never said please to any woman. _Ever._

He pulled away, the revelation making him too vulnerable, and went to stand again at the end of the bed. She watched him now, following his movements wordlessly. Her expression still guarded. Draco looked down at her body. Her limbs in long straight lines, nipples arching into the air, the dark triangle of curls teasing him, and her small mouth, closed and pink. He wanted this vision burned into his brain. He found her gaze and saw her wrestling her inner demons, still trying to find her courage. He locked his eyes with hers and began to unbutton his shirt.

Hermione watched closely as the image that had played over in her mind formed before her. She could still feel the heat of his skin again, as she brushed her hand across the expanse of pale golden skin. She sucked in a deep breath as he peeled off the shirt, revealing his chest, strong arms, broad shoulders, and lean muscle that moved beneath his skin as he moved. His small hard nipples were flushed pink against his perfect skin and a thin line of dark blonde hair led Hermione's eyes to his belt. He was breathing slowly and the pink tinge on his cheeks made Hermione wonder if he was as nervous as she was. But she couldn't fathom why _Draco Malfoy_ would be shy in front of _her._

Draco's hand paused on his belt. His cock was locked up painfully in his pants and ached for release. The movement drew Hermione's eyes down and he saw the glimmer of curiosity flicker there. He smiled to himself and slowly drew out the leather, pulling it free and dropping it on the floor. He fingered the button.

God he was nervous. More than he had been his first time. Draco made a mental note to think about that later. His heart thudded against his chest as he flicked the button open. Desire merged with the curiosity in Hermione's eyes, and seeing it so plainly made Draco's courage return in full as he pulled at the row of buttons, almost smirking. Hooking his thumbs in both his pants and boxers, he brought them down together.

And there he stood, Draco Malfoy, completely naked, thick, long pink cock jutting out from a nest of dark blonde curls.

Hermione was openly staring. She couldn't take her eyes off his cock. It was the first she'd ever seen openly and in person. And it was...beautiful. Strange and beautiful, and she felt the coil of need in her belly curl up tightly.

Draco proudly grasped his hard cock, stroking down the length slowly. Hermione's breath quickened. There was something decadent about watching Malfoy stroke his cock. Setting her determination against her nerves, Hermione brought her knees up to a bent position. Draco's stomach flip-flopped and he licked his lips.

"Spread your legs, Granger. Show me your pretty pussy."

His words made her blush and she could feel the heat from the red splotches blooming on her chest. She moved her feet out tentatively and opened her knees.

"Oh, God. Yeeessss. Good girl," Draco moaned out loud as he looked at her dark pink pussy lips glistening with her juices. He gave his cock a hard stroke. He wanted to dive in and shove his tongue up into that hot wet cave. To taste her, to have her on his tongue.

The approving moan from Draco gave Hermione the courage to let her knees fall open more. She gulped hard and looked at the ceiling. She was showing Draco Malfoy her pussy. His eyes were on her, she could _feel_ it, between her legs, devouring her, swallowing her.

Draco stayed at the end of the bed, slowly stroking his painfully hard cock and just staring between her open legs. After a long, full minute he growled low, "Touch your self Granger. Spread your pussy lips for me."

With her heart thumping wildly, Hermione snaked her hands down and stared hard at the ceiling as she pulled her wet sex open.

"Wider." Her breath hitched harshly at the command and she spread her pussy open obscenely. Draco let out a hard sigh.

"God, you're so wet. I can't wait to shove my hard cock in your hot wet cunt," he hissed out. "Play with your pussy, Granger. Show me how you want me to touch you."

Hermione's stomach somersaulted. His words went straight into her core. She closed her eyes and moved the fingers of one hand to her swollen clit, rubbing in small circles over the hard bundle of nerves. Her hips gyrated at the contact and she schooled her body, still embarrassed at her need.

"That's it Granger. You want me to rub your clit, don't you? I bet you want me to stuff your tight pussy too, don't you?" he ground out as he stoked his cock faster. She moved the fingers of her other hand to her entrance.

"Yes, Granger, fuck yourself with your little fingers," Draco growled. She could hear the need in his voice, and so could he. Hermione cringed inwardly at how badly she needed to be filled, so badly that she would do this in front of him, so badly that she would follow his orders. So badly that she sunk two fingers into her sopping pussy and immediately began thrusting them in and out. Her hips rolled against her hands and she couldn't stop herself. Her need to come was starting to spiral out of control.

"Look at me! Look at me while you ram your wet pussy with your fingers!"

Her eyes snapped open and locked on his. She was panting hard, her breaths loud in the quiet room. The tight coil of need warred with her embarrassment as she drove into herself, spurred on by the ravenous look in Draco's eyes.

He let out a deep predatory growl at the sight of her conflicting emotions and her agile body writhing in front of him. He didn't think he could restrain himself much longer. Her fingers flew over her clit and her hand pumped three fingers in and out of her pussy frantically.

She was so close... A deep pink flush stained her cheeks and she writhed under her hands on his bed. Draco was beside himself. This was such a private act, and he knew it. He knew what it was costing her. His desire skyrocketed and he suddenly had to stop her.

_He_ would make her come. She was _his_ to make fall apart. She belonged to _him._

Draco grabbed her wrists and wrenched them away from his prize. He leapt onto the bed swiftly, over her, trapping her under the cage of his arms and legs. Draco pinned her arms by the wrists over her head and brought his face over hers.

Hermione stared up at him, her eyes wide. She was caught off guard by the feel of his large body over her, and she was desperate from her need for completion. She could feel his cock hanging down between her legs, against her thigh. The heavy weight of it surprised her. She moaned and rolled her hips up towards him.

"Tell me what you want Granger. Beg me for it," he commanded roughly. She moaned again and her hips bucked in answer. His face was inches away and his eyes were dark and stormy and burned into hers.

"Say it! I want to hear you tell me in detail what you want me to do to you, to your body. Tell me what you want Granger."

Draco realized this would be hard for her, probably harder than the whole act itself, so he gave a little. Holding both of her wrists in one hand, he brought his other hand over her eyes, plunging her into darkness.

He leaned his lips down to her ear. His hot breath on her neck made Hermione shiver and made her need for completion double.

"Do you want me to touch your tits, Granger?" he whispered.

Yes. Oh yes. She wanted him to touch her so bad. She ached to have his hands on her. Her back arched and her nipples touched the skin of his chest. Cut off from the intensity of his arctic grey eyes, Hermione found a hint of courage.

"Yes," she said breathlessly.

"Beg for it, Granger."

"Please." The whimper of desperation in her voice made his cock throb. "Please, Draco…."

His stomach melted like hot butter when his name rolled off her tongue. He licked the shell of her ear and Hermione squirmed.

"Please, touch my tits," she said so quietly he barely heard her.

"Good girl," he cooed in her ear.

The hand over her eyes slid down but she kept her eyes closed. Draco moaned quietly as he ran his palm along the soft skin at the side of her full breasts. He flattened his palm and lifted it off her skin to drag it across her hard nipple, touching nothing but the peaked tip. Her back arched into his hand and it closed reflexively, kneading her flesh. Hermione groaned in relief and Draco wanted to hear that sound for the rest of life. He pinched her nipple lightly and she moaned softly. His grip tightened hard and he gave a small twist. Electricity shot straight to her clit and Hermione bucked and writhed under him.

"Do you like that?" he asked low and gravelly. "Do you like having your nipples pinched hard?"

"Yes…Please." She flushed in embarrassment at admitting it.

"What else do you want Granger?" His tone was sultry. "Do you want me to touch your pussy?"

"God yes! Touch my pussy please," flowed from her lips in one breath.

"Mmmmmm," he moaned in her ear. Draco's free hand left her nipple with one last sharp twist and traveled over her stretched belly, into her soft curls and he lightly grazed her clit. She gave a slow roll of her pelvis in anticipation. Draco ran a long finger along the slippery seam of her pussy lips and leaned down to her ear again.

"Your pussy is so sexy and hot. I've been waiting so long to touch you here. It was torture to watch you hold your pussy lips open for me and not shove my tongue into your wet little hole."

Hermione groaned and writhed underneath him. Draco chuckled knowing what she wanted, but wanting to hear her beg for it.

"Mmmmm, kitten, I bet you want to feel my fingers inside you, don't you? You want me to _stuff_ your pussy? Do you want me to _fuck_ you with my fingers? Do you need to feel your _pussy_ filled?" Her breathing was fast and shallow. "Beg me."

"Oh, GOD Draco! Please, please shove your fingers in my pussy. Please, I need it so bad!" she sobbed.

Joy screamed through Draco's body. He let go of her wrists and lifted off her to kneel between her spread knees. He had waited so long, wanted this so bad, he had to see it. He put his hands on her thighs and pushed her open farther. For a long moment he looked at the shiny pink lips of her sex and then slowly, too slowly, he let one long finger sink into her heat, watching it disappear between her slick pussy lips. He closed his eyes and moaned in the back of his throat as her burning hot, wet folds closed around him.

The walls of her pussy clamped down hard on him and his cock twitched in jealousy. Hermione let out a long, low wail and her lower back came off the bed. He pulled out just as slowly, torture. But he added a second finger when he sunk back into her again. It was the fullest she had ever felt.

Draco's mind reeled. He had his fingers inside Hermione Granger's untouched pussy! And it was unbelievably good, so hot, so tight.

The fullness in her clinging pussy both relieved her and made her want more, and she ground down against Draco's hand. The coil in her abdomen was wound so tightly it was almost excruciating. Pure desire overwhelmed whatever shame might hold her back.

"Please Draco, make me come. I need to come." She whimpered. Draco pulled his long fingers out of Hermione's drenched pussy and leaned up to whisper in her ear again.

"Open your mouth," he said calmly. Her lips parted into a soft oval. Draco traced her lips with his wet fingers, coating her mouth in her own juices, making her lips glisten. Then he dipped inside her hot open mouth, rubbing his wet fingers down the flat of her velvety tongue. He stroked her tongue deeply and commanded, "Suck your pussy juice off my fingers. All of it."

Hermione obeyed immediately and closed her mouth over his fingers. Her little tongue was swirling around his fingers, licking in every crevice as she tasted herself. Draco's eyes rolled back for a moment. Watching his fingers disappear into her small pink mouth was undoing him. He pumped his fingers into her slowly. Fucking her mouth the way he had fucked her pussy.

"You want me to make you come, Granger? I'll make you come. I'll make you come on my tongue. I'm going to fuck your sweet pussy with my mouth, Granger. Is that what you need?" He pulled his fingers out of her mouth and coated a nipple with her saliva. The cool air hit her wet nipple and she hissed.

"Yes! Fuck my pussy with your mouth! Suck on my clit! PLEASE!" Hermione cried out.

Draco all but dove to her pussy. Using both hands he spread her pussy lips apart, opening her impossibly wide, adjusting his hold on the slippery flesh, desperate to open her more. He wanted this more than anything, to see her open, spread, stretched, exposed to him, and him alone, even more than was physically possible, as though every answer, all of her secrets, could be found there hidden in her slick hot folds.

Her lips stretched open like this uncovered her dark pink clit, swollen and sticking out in invitation. Draco leaned down and gave it a feather light lick. Hermione rolled her hips and growled at the teasing stroke.

Draco examined the waiting opening with a hungry stare as he held her so far open. Hermione squirmed under his scrutiny and Draco's cock made another plea for it's own relief.

Keeping his hold on her lips, Draco buried his tongue as deep as he could push into her hot hole. The taste of her, at last, overwhelmed him and he attacked her pussy like a starving man. He thrust his tongue into her, curling it, lapping frantically to get as much of her essence as the physical world would allow. He growled into her in his frustration and desire to get further in.

Hermione was lost in it. Draco was practically consuming her. She writhed and opened her legs to the point of pain just to get him closer. Draco's mouth moved to the stretched inner walls of her pussy lips that he was pulling open. He licked broad strokes along the smooth red flesh and spread sucking kisses over them. He released the folds and sucked them together into his mouth. He sucked them hard and bit them and pulled them with this mouth until they throbbed in heat and Hermione's moans had turned into a streaming litany of incoherent mumbles.

And then he went for the prize. Draco spread her abused and aching lips again and gave her one long slow lick from her sensitive asshole, up, dipping into her pussy for a second only, up along the smooth skin under her clit and then finally up over the hard little nub begging for mercy.

Hermione bucked hard and her hands came down to Draco's head, viciously tangling in his silky hair to keep his mouth where she needed it. He licked all around her clit, and over it until her back arched off the bed, her body coated in a sheen of sweat, and her mumbles became a long wail.

She was on the edge. His prize was near. He plunged his fingers into her and thrust hard a few times, and then curled up inside her, against her front wall. She suddenly went silent and stiff and Draco traced over her clit with his tongue as she came hard: P-R-O-P-E-R-T-Y-O-F-D-R-A-C-O-M-A-L-F-O-Y.

He would never tell her that he'd claimed her like that. He would never tell anyone. It would be a treasured secret that would cause him to smile to himself at unexpected moments in the future.

Hermione's body shook and Draco greedily kept her spread open. He opened her so wide that he could see her pussy convulsing and he thrust his tongue into her gathering her nectar that belonged to him.

Draco was delirious with his own need to bury his cock in her, but watching her come down kept him spellbound. She was unhinged, soul-bared, vulnerable and yet, deliciously satiated. It was all there on her radiant face. A private, inner smile blossomed on her pink mouth and her eyes were heavy and moist. She looked like she was floating, blissful, languid, warm, and then a tremor would rock her body for a moment before she returned to floating.

Her curls were a wild, tangled mess that clung to her sweaty forehead. She was completely unguarded.

The full knowledge of what she was allowing him to see, slammed into Draco and stole his breath. He was taken aback by how simple, plain, pure and earth-bound it was. She was not an angel or a goddess. She was a woman. A very breakable woman, if only in this one instance. And she had handed him total control and responsibility for her. He felt that responsibility like a badge of honor and pride. Pride that she had chosen _him._

Draco felt his heart swell and he felt like it might burst right out of his chest. A wave of protectiveness took hold of him and he needed to hold her in his arms. Draco crawled over her and lowered his naked body onto hers, covering her tiny frame underneath him. He rested the weight of his upper body on his forearms at either side of her head, and smoothed the damp hair off her face.

"Hermione…" he whispered, looking down at her closed eyes and flushed face. She smiled a little wider, but didn't open her eyes. "Hermione…" He needed to tell her something, but wasn't sure what it was. "I…Oh, God, Hermione…"

She opened her eyes slowly, heavily to see an almost pained expression on his face.

"Draco…"

He moaned and brought his hands to either side of her face, holding her still. His head tilted and he slowly, softly pressed his mouth to her smooth warm lips.

He hadn't dared kiss her until now.

She made a soft sigh and tilted her head up a little in invitation. He placed his lips on hers again and captured her bottom lip in his. His tongue licked at her lower lip and she opened her mouth more to him. He gently licked his way into her mouth, caressing her tongue with his, smoothly, unhurried, savoring it.

Hermione's mind swirled in the thick haze of bliss, of his mouth, of his weight on top of her. Her fingers traced the pulse in his neck and wove into his hair. Slowly he plundered her mouth with his tongue, taking what was his, over and over, drugging her mind. It felt like he was trying to convey every thought, every feeling in this one kiss, and it overwhelmed her.

The feel of his long body pressed down on her, skin on skin, and his large hands cradling her face reawakened the fire in her and she deepened the kiss, her tongue swirling and laving against his.

As Hermione began to undulate beneath him, rocking her hips into his, Draco was overcome with his need to both continue his claiming of her mouth, and to be deep inside her – finally – where no one had ever been, to claim that also as his.

Hermione's tongue swirled around his, trying to draw him in deeper, faster, more urgently. She could feel the ridge, and the heat, of his hard cock resting against her belly and suddenly she was desperate to give herself to him, to have him take her. She wrenched her mouth from his.

"Draco… Draco, please make love to me," she pleaded, blushing at the sound of her voice saying the words out loud. But she wanted it, wanted _him_ inside her, and her pussy ached, felt empty, from that want.

Draco growled and closed his eyes. Yes. Oh God Yes. Finally.

He reached between them and slid his fingers into her tight pussy once again. Her pussy was hot and sopping wet. And she needed to be. She was snug around his two fingers and he knew he was quite a bit wider than that. Hermione snaked her hand down between them and tentatively wrapped her small fingers around his rock hard cock.

"Fuck!" he ground out suddenly at her soft touch and closed his eyes. It was silky, heavy and hot in her hand. Hermione tightened her hold experimentally and Draco groaned. She looked up at his face, his eyes shut tightly and brows furrowed. She squeezed again, a little harder, and the crease between Draco's brows deepened. She pulled up once, lightly stroking her fingers over the shaft and over the smooth head, then tightened her grip and did it again. He thrust into her hand hard and grabbed her wrist.

"Next time," he said through gritted teeth. Still holding his cock firmly, she tried to position it where she wanted it.

"Please Draco. Fuck me please. I need you inside me. Please fuck my pussy!" she begged, shocked at her own brazenness.

Draco growled again and gave her a warning look that told her she'd better wield that power over him carefully. He lifted onto his knees and dipped into her again, spreading her slick juices over her pussy lips.

Draco's mind was mess of images, thought and feelings, all mixed up in swirling muddled whirlpool as he positioned his cock at her entrance. He was going to take Hermione Granger's virginity. No one else in the world would _ever_ be able to say that. It belonged to him, and him alone. She was giving it to him.

Draco looked down at the beautiful woman under him and felt a knot grow in his chest. She stared up at him, her eyes sparkling and dark. It was almost unbearable.

Hermione felt the pressure at her opening.

Oh God.

This was it.

She was never going to be virgin again. From this moment on, she would be someone who had had sex.

With Draco.

And she wanted Draco so much that it hurt. It seemed like it had been building between them forever and it all came down to this moment. And then the next moment, when he would be inside her. The first and only person to ever be inside her.

In the back of her mind, she realized that this single moment would etch Draco Malfoy into her life forever. And she wanted that. Wanted him branded into her. No matter what happens, this would be his and with all her heart, she wanted him to have it.

Hermione spread her legs more and brought her knees up along Draco's hips. The head of his cock teased her opening and she rolled her hips up to meet him. Draco pushed forward slowly, breaching her folds, being sucked into that wet heat.

Draco and Hermione both moaned, their eyes closing and heads tilting back, as they finally came together.

Draco pulled out when the head of his cock was fully inside her to rub the slippery tip on her sensitive clit. He repeated the motion a few times, only sliding into her incrementally more each time. When he felt her barrier, he leaned down and buried his face in her soft curls, breathing her in. Fixing this moment into his mind.

He reached down and rubbed small circles over her clit. If there was going to be pain, there would be pleasure to. His muscles were pulled taught, moving over her, pulling out a little, pushing in a little, her body elastic and undulating. The desire to be filled with him and the ball coiling in her abdomen was making her crazy. Draco increased the pressure on her clit and her small mouth latched onto his neck. She sucked and licked and dragged her teeth over his pulse, his tendons, over his collarbone, hard and urgently. Draco tilted his head, baring his neck to her. He wasn't even all the way in her yet and she was spiraling. Her hips pushed up into him harder.

"Bite me," he commanded. "Bite me now!" Hermione gasped and he thrust into her hard, ripping the small bit of flesh and sinking the entire length of his cock deep in her pussy.

He threw back his head and hissed as her teeth sank into his shoulder and she screamed into his skin. She licked at the wound she marked him with. Draco felt the sting in his shoulder and hoped she'd left a mark. He wondered momentarily if it was possible to charm the mark to stay there always. He would treasure it as a reminder of the night he took Hermione Granger's virginity. And, the thought slipped in, of the night he gave away his carefully guarded heart.

Draco pressed into her canal and stayed there. She was so tight. Unbelievably tight. And hot. And her muscles clenched and squeezed and spasmed around his cock.

"Oh GOD! FUCK, Hermione!" he cried out. She ground her hips into his and he opened his eyes to find hers locked on his and filled with too many things to decipher. They were warm and wet, a couple of renegade tears leaving tracks down the sides of her face, and more than anything, they were beaming love. At him.

For Draco, who had lived for so long in a world of coldness and calculation, the sight washed over him and he felt something inside him break. He swooped down and captured her mouth in his, kissing her with everything he had in him, and resuming a slow, deep penetration into her. Slow and deep.

Hermione moaned into his mouth as his cock slid home and hit the back of her canal. She felt impossibly full and the ache in her belly was throbbing in growing need. She squeezed at the hardness in her instinctively, causing Draco to groan and pick up his speed.

A feverish desire began to build in Hermione and she bit him hard on the neck and dug her heels into his ass, pulling him into her. Faster. Harder. Her need growing wild.

Draco grunted as she bit him again and slammed his cock into her hard. His hand flew to her tits, grabbing at the stiff nipple, pinching and rolling it in his fingertips. He was not gentle and Hermione bucked under him, throwing his rhythm off momentarily.

Sweat broke on both their bodies and Draco licked broad, flat strokes anywhere he could reach, tasting her, coating her, marking her with his saliva.

Her hands wove into his hair, grabbing wildly at the disordered platinum strands. Draco's mouth sought out the abused nipple and he sucked it greedily.

He was pounding into her pussy hard, and he thought that being her first time he should slow down, but her heels dug into his ass and her strong legs pulled him into her.

Draco clenched his teeth together hard. "Do you like having your pussy full of cock, Granger?" he bit out roughly. "Do you like being fucked hard by my cock? Do you love my cock slamming into your tight pussy, Granger?"

God. Her pussy gripped him so hard! He thought he might go mad. And he wanted more. He wanted this forever. He wanted this to be his. He wanted _her_ to be his.

"Yes! Fuck me Draco! Fuck me hard! Harder! Please! Oh God YES…" she pleaded franticly. His hips pistoned into her and his fingers found her clit. He circled it roughly and looked up at her face. He gave her nipple a small bite and a scrape of teeth before letting it pop from his mouth.

"Come for me, Granger! I want to feel you come on my cock. Come for me, now!" he demanded in a gravelly harsh voice.

He watched her tense face as his fingers flew over her clit and his cock thrust into her with a speed and power that he couldn't control. She arched under him, her beautiful breasts pressing into his chest. Her cunt was incredibly tight, clenched down in a merciless vice and he found he could barely pull out of her.

The scream that came from her as her body went rigid was low and guttural and loud and didn't even seem human. It filled the room and Draco's head as he felt the last vestiges of his control leave him. His eyes slammed shut and his face grimaced in the crook of her neck. The powerful spasms of her pussy were milking his straining cock almost painfully and he thrust into her, whimpering a choked stream of unchecked words.

"Oh my fucking God, Hermione. Oh God. Oh yes."

_God, I love you so much. I love you. I love you. Hermione. _

"Please…."

On his undefined "Please" Draco exploded deep inside her pussy, spilling into her with spasms that rocked him to his core.


	24. Please

"Please…"

The word swam in the small space below Hermione's ear. All her attention was drawn down and focused on that tiny spot where his ragged breath beat against her skin. Where "please" swirled, tangible and drowning in the damp, hot air at the base of her neck.

Under her fingers, the tension in Draco's back released. He was coming down. His breaths became longer, deeper, and hit her hard. She could feel the sweat on her forehead cooling.

Please… It was like a word in another language and she tried to remember what it meant, but couldn't get there.

Draco lifted his head and a pair of full, crystal grey eyes met hers. In that instant everything changed. The soft blur of exhausted satisfaction, of finally achieving a kind of wholeness, the relief of a mystery solved – was gone.

Hermione's heart threw itself against her chest. This Draco – this Draco with these eyes – looking down at her from too close a distance, was setting off a hundred alarms in her head. Everything contained in that please was written in his grey eyes.

_Please don't regret this._

_Please don't hurt me._

_Please forgive me._

_Please love me._

She wanted to flee.

--

Draco saw the panic in her wide amber eyes and his heart sank. Every step forward he'd made was being erased as he watched the wall go up between them. He thought, for a brief second, that there was something he could say to stop it. But something was choking him. There was a constricting feeling around his throat and nothing would come out.

Right. Okay. This is the way it was. He loved her. He loved Hermione Granger. And she didn't love him back. Right.

Draco rolled off of her and they both lay on their backs staring at the ceiling.

An awkward silence poured over them, filling up the small spaces between them on the bed. Between their touching arms, their sweaty shoulders, and between his naked thigh and her hers.

Draco wanted her to leave. Or he wanted to trap her underneath him and never let her leave.

--

"Do you regret it?"

"No."

Another length of silence stretched out between them while she considered her answer. She didn't regret it. It was the most incredible thing she'd ever experienced. She thought she could actually _feel_ her magic coursing through her. But then….

"It was…" she tried to think of how to describe it, "it was unbelievable." A completely inadequate word. "Thank you." Even more inadequate.

Draco closed his eyes and breathed slowly. His chest hurt. Badly.

Hermione sat up and hung her legs over the edge of the bed. She felt strange. Her mind was shutting down. It was as though it had reached maximum saturation. She couldn't take anything else in. She couldn't accept what she had seen. She was already forgetting it. She needed to get out there.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at her bare back, half covered by the crazy curls he hated. She was going to walk out now. She was going to get dressed, and walk out, and that would be it. He clenched his teeth and watched.

Still with her back to him, she picked up her skirt and stepped into it. He watched the small points of her shoulder blades emerge as she hooked her bra, and then sink back. And then she was buttoning her shirt. He watched her scan the floor for her knickers and give up.

She sat on the bed again to pull on her socks. And then she just sat there looking at her hands in her lap. A hundred and eighty million things that he wanted to say to her scattered through his mind, and not one – not one. God. damned. one – came out. All he could do was lay there with his hands behind his head.

She turned her head a little. She was biting her lower lip.

"I should go," she said over her shoulder.

And she went.

And Draco stayed. He lay in his bed, unmoving, staring up at the ceiling and trying to remember to breathe.

--

Hermione stood outside the closed portrait door. She looked at the man in the painting with her brows furrowed and her mouth open, like there was something she wanted to say. He looked back at her with his brows also scrunched, waiting. A loud buzz in her mind smothered the thoughts that were trying to appear. And when she no longer remembered that she wanted to think anything at all, she turned and made her way to her room.

The halls were deserted and the clip of her shoes on the stones echoes off the walls. The wrinkle in her forehead might have given her the appearance of being deep in thought, but there was nothing other than the buzzing. She barely registered the breeze under her skirt, cooling the wetness on the insides of her thighs. She gave the password to her quarters automatically and walked straight to her bed. The only thing she removed was her shoes. She pulled down the blankets and crawled into her bed. One thought, only one, made it past the buzz:

She had sex with Draco. She was no longer a virgin.

--

Many hours later, in the blue light of early morning, Draco made a decision.

She wasn't his and she never had been. Even when he was taking the one thing she would give him, she didn't belong to him.

He wasn't going to do anything. And he wasn't going avoid her. He would just carry on the same as he always did. And it was going to be hell. But it was _his_ hell and he deserved it. He deserved it for allowing this to happen. Hadn't he known all along how impossible it was?

She had never asked him to love her. She didn't even want him to hold her hand. That was not part of the deal.

--

After loosing the fight against the bright winter light streaming through her window, Hermione finally surrendered and opened her eyes. Her limbs were heavy and stuck to the mattress, refusing to move for a long time so that all she could do was stare blankly out that window and remember.

She remembered the uncomfortable anticipation of _watching_ her breasts being exposed for the first time to another person, button by button. The back of her skirt being lifted, the elastic of her knickers stretched around her thighs. The way her nipples felt, tight and thrust out into the cool air. Being bent over. Being spanked. Doing what he told her to. _Everything_ he told her to. God! Had she really done _that?_ Her cheeks flushed as she remembered things he had done that she had never even considered. And the things he said.

She could still hear his voice in her head, right by her ear, low and quiet, and just like it had that night after Halloween, and just like it did last night, it went right to her core. Her fingers went to her bare pussy, tentatively at first, exploring, feeling the soreness, the satisfying ache. She pressed her fingers onto the puffy lips of her sex.

He was in her head again, whispering in her ear.

'_I'm going to fuck your pussy with my mouth, Granger.' _

'_Do you like having your pussy full of cock, Granger?' _

'_Come for me, Granger!' _

She liked the way he called her Granger. Her fingers rubbed hard circles on her still sore clit. The pain was delicious and in mere moments she was coming, knees open and hips undulating, panting heavily in the quiet of her room.

How was she ever going to face him again?

--

There was nothing for it. She had to go. She had showered and dressed, flew through two chapters of the novel she was reading, folded every pair of knickers in her drawer by hand, and braided and unbraided her hair three times. And she was starving. She could go to the kitchens, or call Dobby, but she was a Gryffindor, and that just wouldn't do.

The House tables in Great Hall were empty and for a second she thought she had missed lunch. But then a noise drew her eyes up to the front of the hall. The professors and the handful of students that had stayed at Hogwarts sat around the head table. Draco had his back to her and didn't turn when Professor McGonagall motioned to her.

She adopted the most unaffected attitude she could manage and felt like she was walking to the guillotine. A lump formed in her throat as she approached the table. There was only one seat open. Of course.

Hermione said hello as brightly as she could to the table and climbed onto the bench next to Draco.

"Hi," she said quietly, keeping her eyes on her plate. She felt him turn, so she looked at him and he held her gaze briefly.

"Hi," he nodded and then turned back to his plate.

The three inches between their thighs on the bench felt like it was crackling with energy. Hermione tried to ignore the heat rising on her neck and was grateful when Professor McGonagall asked her how her NEWTS preparation was going and what her parents planned to do without her for the holidays.

--

Dinner was, unfortunately, a repeat of lunch. They all sat at the head table, joined this time by Dumbledore. Draco groaned internally when Dumbledore directed a timid third year girl to sit next to him, leaving the last seat open next to Granger, again. Draco wondered if that was by design, or mere coincidence, and suspected the former.

The headmaster tried to keep everyone in good spirits and there was a good deal of discussion among the younger students about what they were hoping to get for Christmas. Draco left as soon as was reasonable, saying that he had some studying he wanted to do.

He waited in their common room. It felt different now. Altered, maybe in some chemical or electrical way. The magic felt different. Or maybe it was just him.

Draco knew she would come. And so he waited with a book open to a paragraph that would never sink in no matter how many times he read it.

When she walked into the common room a little while later, she went straight to the cubbies and pulled out the graduation folio and took it to her desk. Draco watched her out of the corner of his eye as she bustled busily around the room. She made herself a cup of tea, made some notes in the folio, pulled a book off the shelf and read a bit, made some more notes, made another cup of tea, read, made notes and ignored him completely.

"I think it would be good if we worked out the details for graduation as early as possible," she said as if she was speaking to no one in particular. "With NEWTS coming up in a few months we'll want to be as prepared as we can be." She clearly wasn't looking for a response, so he gave her none.

Her casual dismissal of him – of everything – was making his blood boil. His hands trembled as he gripped his book hard. The muscle in his jaw was working as he tried to keep his breathing calm.

Yes, this was punishment. To be like this. Pretending everything was okay. That nothing significant had happened. Pretending that her indifference didn't cut into him. It made him want to shake her hard – or kiss her hard. As long as it was hard.

She shelved her book and put the folio back in its place before packing up her bag.

Draco glared at her as she headed for the door, his fingers white against the edges of the book. The blasé "goodnight" she tossed out as she left him – again – pushed him over the edge.

A half-second later, the book slammed against the mantle, sending the vase of jasmine crashing to the hearth, drowned out by the roar of anguish that ripped from Draco's throat as he sent the crystal ink well on his desk flying at the door she had just walked out of.


	25. Well, This is Familiar

You can't unknow an idea.

That was Draco Malfoy's problem. He had made love to Hermione Granger and now he _knew._

He knew the taste of her. The sound of her. The velvet of her tongue. And he knew the possibility of her love – of what it might look like – because he had seen it in her eyes.

He knew each time he glanced at his bed that the image of her laying on his pillow, sweaty curls stuck to her flushed face, was carved permanently into his mind. A tattoo he would never be rid of.

And he _knew_ – three times a day, he knew – as he sat next to her at the head table in the Great Hall, that he would never be free of the crazy scent of jasmine, amber and honey that overwhelmed him, sank into his bones, and made him feel raw and abused.

He was exhausted.

Loving someone, wanting them, when they don't want you is like that point during apparition when you are being squeezed from all sides, only you never pop out on the other side. Draco felt like he would never take a full breath again.

-- 000 --

A neat row of parchments, rolled and sealed, sat the edge of Hermione's desk in the HCR. Parents. Grandparents. Ginny. Ron. Even one to the Weasleys as a whole.

Her letter to Harry lay open in front of her. Three jammed-full pages of nothing important, and all of it an attempt at avoiding the one thing she really wanted to tell him – to tell someone – but couldn't even begin to put into words. Not even for herself.

She stared out at the white-grey sky, unfocused and quiet. The last five days had been strange. Since that night, an odd cycle had developed: avoiding Draco, and then having to sit next to Draco, and then avoiding him all over again so she could recover from having to sit next to him.

It was like a cruel joke that it had somehow been assumed that the Head Students would sit together at the head table for meal times. If she were to change that now, it would be obvious. Well, _something_ would be obvious. So, like the courageous Gryffindor she was, she plastered on a bright face, made an extra effort to be involved in conversation, and tired to ignore her body's urge to either press herself into him, or run and hide.

That's what she was doing now. Hiding. She hadn't seen Draco in the HCR since the day after that night, and while that had been incredibly uncomfortable for her, this was worse. His empty chair felt like the chair of a dead person. She suspected that the air molecules in that part of the room were denser than anywhere else. She didn't like it.

So she read, she wrote letters, she drank countless cups of tea – and the occasional hot chocolate when she was really missing him, and she stared out the window for long stretches of time and just thought.

She thought about sex. She thought about it a lot. Did she feel different? More grown-up? More womanly? More knowledgeable? Nothing. Every time she tried to get a handle on her thoughts about it, to come to some rational assessment, Draco was there, and that coiling, that dull ache at her core, was there too, confusing and distracting her. She scowled.

Draco. Draco Malfoy. He… bothered her. He made her feel out of control. Like she was a spring, wound too tightly and shaking with the effort not to burst. And God! She wanted to burst so badly!

She thought about the other girls he had slept with. She thought about Pansy. And she thought that maybe she understood Pansy a little more than she had before. And that really bothered her.

Hermione's eyes refocused on her letter to her best friend. With a resigned sigh, she signed her name and rolled it up. What could she tell him about it anyway?

-- 000 --

A cheerful bright blue sky peeked in Hermione's window Christmas morning. She smiled. Hermione loved Christmas. It made her feel giddy and excited and ten years old again. Nothing could compete with her happiness on Christmas.

In a rare request to a House Elf, Hermione ordered herself a mug of hot chocolate and sat in front of her fireplace in her pjs. A small pile of presents sat before her and she grinned stupidly to herself. Yes. She loved Christmas.

Fifteen minutes and a mess of wrapping paper later, Hermione reached for her last unopened present. The muggle wrapping paper didn't twinkle brightly or blink or have snowmen zooming around on brooms. It was just plain green with small pink and white Christmas trees all over it. Hermione loved it. For all the wonders of magic, she couldn't help feeling a little sentimental about the things she had grown up with.

She carefully peeled open the paper to reveal a long carved wooden box with an intricate silver fastening. Inside lay a beautiful feather quill from what must have been a rare or exotic creature. She held it up and the mix of sunlight and firelight made its iridescent feathers shimmer softly. It was exquisite.

She thought about the quill on Draco's desk. This was every bit as magnificent as anything she had ever seen him use. She sighed. What was Draco's Christmas morning like? She tried to imagine him in his room opening presents. Would the house elves at Malfoy Manor send him gifts? That seemed unlikely. Maybe Dumbledore or an uncle? Hermione frowned. Did Draco have any relatives that weren't Voldemort's henchmen? Suddenly she felt very, very sad for Draco. For the first time she understood just how truly alone he really was.

She popped up from her spot on the floor and put the quill box on her desk. She pulled on her favorite jeans and the new sweater from Mrs. Weasley and hurried down to breakfast.

She had a plan.

-- 000 --

Draco looked sleepily at the bright smiling face of Hermione Granger as she sat next to him. Well, "sat" didn't quite describe it. She was practically bouncing in her seat. He had never seen the bookworm so excited and he almost wanted to laugh. He was a little surprised – and more than a little discomfited - to find it hard to look at her smiling face without smiling too. It was infectious.

And when she suddenly turned that happy smile on _him,_ the brightness in her eyes caught him off guard and made something in his chest swell.

"Draco," she bit her lip and her crooked smile took his breath away, "Um…I was thinking of spending the day in Hogsmeade, to, you know, look around and stuff and… I wondered if you'd like to go with me?"

Draco smiled back at her, captivated. And before he could stop himself, he said the stupidest thing possible.

"Sure."

The smile that broke out on her face was dazzling.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

-- 000 --

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Draco was still kicking himself as he trundled through the snow next to the bundled witch.

Her cold-reddened cheeks peeked out from the scarf wrapped snuggly around her neck and her curls looked like they had exploded from under her little fuzzy grey cap. Draco shook his head at her insistence at not casting a warming charm. She claimed she liked the cold – made it really feel like Christmas. Mental. But if she wasn't going to use a warming charm, neither would he. He did have to draw the line somewhere though, and he cast a charm to keep their feet dry, adamantly refusing to walk around with soggy, cold toes.

The snow crunched under their feet. It was a perfect winter day. Blue sky, sun shining, the white snow glistening brilliantly. Even Draco had a hard time not feeling a little lighter – despite his present company, or perhaps, because of it.

Granger was lively and animated and talked almost the whole way to the village. The warm tone and sing-song cadence of her voice was a perfect complement to the sunny day and Draco found that it somehow soothed him, made him feel more content than he had in a long, long time.

-- 000 --

They passed the Quidditch shop and Hermione wrinkled her brow at him. Draco smirked.

"Did you want to go in? Want to check out the latest brooms?" he asked her with a teasing lilt.

She tried to scowl but her smile got in the way and it wasn't very effective. "No. But… Well, I thought you would."

"I'm all for torturing you Granger, but dragging you into a Quidditch shop isn't my idea of fun," he said with a devilish wink.

Hermione's cheeks burned and she was grateful she could blame the redness on the cold. Too flustered to think of a reply, she turned and kept walking down the high street.

-- 000 --

At each window display, Draco watched her face light up all over again, and she marveled at the ingenious use of magic each shop used in hopes of selling more of their products. She told him about the displays at muggle stores and what the muggles were able to accomplish without magic and how, as a child, she had loved going to see what she then thought was magic.

Her awe was refreshing and satisfying and made him wonder where he had gone wrong in life, that he hadn't known this feeling until now. But, then, he knew the answer to that.

When they passed Honeydukes, his heart became heavier. The cream and red striped awning brought to mind countless packages of treats sent by his mother over the years. It was her way of loving him.

His changed mood must have shown because he suddenly had a small warm hand in his. Draco's heart lurched. And then she was dragging him up the steps until they both stood in the entrance, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of options. Granger's hand stayed in his for a good ten seconds while Draco tried to analyze the odd feeling in his stomach before she slowly let go.

Draco snickered at her attempts to ply him with candy and she huffed at him with each thing he turned down. She was trying to make him feel good, he knew that, and for a moment he felt a twinge of jealousy towards the Gryffindorks she called her best friends. Lucky sods. After having his bit of fun with her, Draco filled a small bag with his favorite buttery caramels and paid for both of their bags.

Hogsmeade had never really done much for Draco, but he had to admit, he was having a good time. It could have even been a _great_ time if he wasn't so busy comparing her face flushed from warmth after being out in the cold, to her face flushed from pleasure after she came.

Those thoughts really weren't helping.

-- 000 --

They had lunch in The Three Broomsticks and stopped in Scrivenshaft's so Draco could get a new ink bottle. When Hermione asked what happened to his, Draco just muttered under his breath. When she asked again he told her he accidentally broke it trying to transfigure it. She gave him a disbelieving quirk of her eyebrow, but didn't say anything else about it.

Hermione suggested visiting the Shrieking Shack, and they turned down the small street in that direction. The last time Draco had been there wasn't pleasant, but it was years ago, and if it meant spending a little longer in this ambiguous state with her, he would have probably agreed to just about anything.

Hermione finally relented and let Draco cast a warming charm over both of them and they trudged through the deep snow in relative comfort. The road to the Shrieking Shack was deserted and neglected, and something about the lack of buildings, people, and even trees gave off a sense of quietness. And so for a while they were quiet and the only sounds they could hear were their feet displacing and compacting the snow and he high pitched warble of small bird in the distance.

As the derelict building came into view, Draco was reminded of the hurtful words he had said to her here, years before. While he had apologized, the regret was still there. He leaned on the wobbly fence and looked thoughtfully at the old, broken down house. He tried to imagine it in it it's full glory and almost had the picture formed in his head when something hard and cold collided with the back of his head.

Draco whipped around to see Granger doubled over in laughter. Oh, he could play this game…

"Think that was funny, do you Princess?"

"Oh my…you.. you should have seen your face," she doubled over again.

Draco started to advance on her and she squealed and ran behind a tree. A second snowball came flying towards him and he dodged it easily. Draco smiled evilly. Bring it on Granger. Bring it on.

Draco kneeled behind a large mound of snow and pulled out his wand. As soon as he had about twenty good-sized balls piled up he levitated them and snuck out from behind the mound to send them flying. More often then not, his ammunition found its target and the regular litany of shrieks and screams confirmed his accuracy.

"MALFOYYYY!!"

"What Granger? You didn't think you'd be able to win, did you?" he laughed.

A second later, a very red-nosed witch stepped out from behind the tree, clumps of snow clinging to her cloak and hair.

"Face it Granger, you're no match for me." He snickered as she brushed herself off and put her hands on her hips.

"Actually, _Malfoy…,"_ Draco didn't like the gleam in her eyes, "you're right. I _am_ no match for you. Because, in fact…" she paused for effect, "I'm quite a bit better than you," she finished smugly.

She flicked her wand so fast he barely saw it, and before he could move, at least ten large white snowballs were flying towards him.

Draco flew behind his mound, thinking he had just managed an escape when the first ball smacked him in the shoulder. And then the next, and the next, and Draco abandoned his hideout in favor of a tree. Smack. Smack. Smack. He was ran behind another tree to escape the relentless onslaught and didn't even time to wonder how she had spelled the snowballs to follow him.

He peeked out from behind the tree and flicked his wand at the stream heading towards him and yelled a choppy Finite Incantatem. When it didn't work he shot her an evil glare and yelled a promise of retribution. The little witch just crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a self-satisfied grin. Well, there was really only one thing to do in a situation like this.

Bring the mighty down with you.

Draco started to run towards her, snowballs smacking him in the back and the shoulders and a couple finding his head. The smug smile slipped off Hermione's face as she realized what was Draco was going to do and she screamed that scream only girls can make, and ran towards her hiding spot.

He caught up to her just as she jumped behind the thick trunk of a tree and, without slowing down, he barreled into her, bringing them both crashing to the ground as she shrieked. That did the trick. Her concentration was broken and the remaining snowballs plopped to the ground. Draco looked down at the laughing girl under him – eyes almost shut with mirth, head tilted back, and her belly puffing with her laughs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw something move and he looked up to find a pair of snow-hands balling up spheres of snow and adding them to a humungous pile of snowballs. Clever little witch.

"Nice arsenal Granger," Draco scowled down at the giggling girl.

"Yes," she said with a wide goofy smile. "Do you like it? I made it just for you." She barely got the last word out before succumbing to a new fit of giggles.

That unholy, mischievous grin she had seen once before suddenly lit on Draco's features and Hermione's eyes became huge as she shook her head in protest even before she knew what he was planning.

Without giving her time to figure it out, Draco's fingers were digging into her ribs beneath the heavy wool cloak. She squirmed and wriggled and laughed and kicked underneath him as he tickled her and Draco would have done anything to stop time right then.

The little grey cap fell off as her head thrashed around, her skinny arms pushing at his chest as she tried unsuccessfully to dislodge him. Unexpectedly she managed to bring a handful of snow to his face and smash it onto his cheek and ear. She cackled, but then yelped and screamed at the coldness as Draco retaliated with a much larger handful of snow that he smooshed over her face and down her neck.

She shook her head back and forth trying to get the cold, wet snow off her face. Blood rushed through Draco's ears. Her frantic wriggling was making him lose control and he quickly trapped her arms and legs under him.

Her warm brown eyes blinked up at him and he felt her body suddenly go still. The change in the air around them was tangible. To Draco, it seemed as if the world had shrunk suddenly, so that all that existed was the space between their faces and her ragged breaths sending her chest into his.

In what felt like slow motion, Draco watched his fingers come up to her face and brush the remaining snow off her cheek, and his eyes followed them down, over her jaw, to her neck, where he dragged his fingers over a small clump of melting snow.

"Well, this is familiar."


	26. Like a man who could do nothing else

Hermione was holding her breath. _Please kiss me. Kiss me now, quick, before it's too late! _

But it was already too late. The danger of thoughts like that was immediately obvious and had to be put to an end. Hermione would not allow herself to become one of the countless girls who swooned over Draco Malfoy. She didn't respect those girls and she wouldn't be able to respect herself if she behaved that way. She would not spend her time strategically planning her days to maximize the chance of running into him. She would not become someone who spent their time wishing, hoping, _praying_ that the great blonde prat would kiss her or even just smile at her.

Draco smiled.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I'm sure this is very familiar to you. You've probably been in this position thousands of times," she bit out cruelly.

As soon as she said it she regretted it. The bitterness in her voice surprised her and she wasn't sure where it had come from. Above her, the small smile on Draco's face was replaced with nothing. Blankness.

For a moment he just looked in her eyes, and then quickly, he popped up off of her to stand up. He pulled her up too, grabbed her grey cap and handed it her, and then turned his back on her. Hermione looked nervously at the back of his head as she brushed the snow off her cloak and replaced her hat.

"We should head back," he said tonelessly without turning around.

"Alright," Hermione replied softly, and they turned down the long road leading back to Hogsmeade.

The walk back was silent and tense. Hermione's forehead creased as she tried to get an apology past the knot in her stomach, and then past the lump in her throat. It was very unlike her to be mean like that and the guilt was laying on her heavily.

Draco's eyes were fixed on a distant snow-capped hill far in the distance, his mouth set in a tight line. Glancing cautiously at him, she watched a tiny muscle pulse at his jaw.

Ahead of them, she could see the low, broken-down fence they'd been following come to an end, and the first of the shops that marked their return to the high road. She was running out of time.

"Draco… I'm s – "

"Six," he said still looking off in the distance.

"What?" she asked a little startled.

"Besides you, I've slept with six other girls."

Hermione's mind spluttered and she walked with her mouth opening and closing dumbly. And then, to her continued shock, Draco lifted his hand and counted them off.

"Pansy, Kaitlin Trivita, Nadine Liska, Parvati Patil, Victoria Delamarre, and Daphne Greengrass."

While she was trying to figure how she was supposed to _feel_ about this information, the categorizing, analytical machine that was known as Hermione Granger's mind jumped into action. Four seventh years, two sixth years. Two with dark hair, one blonde, and two brunettes, and one sort-of red head. All with straight hair, most were tall, Pansy was the shortest. Two Ravenclaws, two Slytherins, a Hufflepuff, and a….

Her head turned sharply to face him. "You…you've slept with a Gryffindor?"

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched into a small smirk. "I've slept with _two_ Gryffindors, Granger," he said giving her a meaningful look.

Hermione dropped her eyes and blushed.

**************************************************

As the snow crunched under their feet, they were both quiet again and after a while, Hermione let her mind wander away from the fluttering in her stomach she felt whenever their arms brushed accidentally.

When they walked past Zonko's again, Hermione wondered what Ron and Harry were doing right now. Probably hiding up in Ron's room over a game of Wizard's Chess while the rest of the house was a flurry of activity. Ginny would, of course, be helping her mother and wishing she were with Harry. The twins would be shooting each other covert glances, anticipating the revelation of their next clever prank. Knowing better than everyone else, Bill and Charlie would have found a way to make themselves scarce. Percy…who knows. And Arthur, poor Arthur, would be doing whatever his busy and frantic wife needed. You'd have to be blind not to see how much that man adored his wife.

Hermione shook her head. She loved the Weasleys. Sometimes she thought her feelings toward Ron might have been misplaced affection for his family. Whenever she sat down at their old wooden table – with the cacophony of voices, laughter, and shouts, and the sea of long reaching arms and freckled noses, and the warmth of the kitchen and scratchy sweaters – she felt full and content in a way she'd never felt anywhere else.

She looked over at Draco, lost in his thoughts just as she was lost in hers. She was like him. The only child in a small family. Her parents weren't really a part of her life in the magical world, and his, well…his weren't either.

"Draco," she said as they neared the castle gate. "When you're an Auror, what will you do with your family's business?" Hermione turned her head to look at him.

"Who said I was going to be an Auror?" he replied in an uninterested tone.

"But, you said –"

He sighed. "Granger, are you really that naïve? Do you _really_ think that the Ministry is going to let the son of a Death Eater be an Auror?"

Hermione's frown matched Draco's scowl.

"But, you're more than good enough, and if you just told them that you – "

"That I what? That I'm really a _good guy?_ I'm a Malfoy, Hermione! That's all those Ministry pricks care about. They'd probably use my application to wipe their asses."

"But, Dumbledore – "

Draco stopped and turned sharply. "Drop it, Granger."

**************************************************

Hermione couldn't drop it.

All through the small, lavish Christmas feast she thought about it. And afterwards, alone in her room, it continued to unsettle her. If she was being naïve, so be it. If she was being idealistic, good. Someone had to be. What was life without ideals to strive towards?

Draco was incredibly smart, handled his wand beautifully, was quick and able-bodied, and her experience of him as Head Boy made it fairly obvious that he had excellent judgment, especially when it came to people. She could easily see him being a top Auror. It rankled her to think that he wouldn't pursue it just because of what he thought others assumed about him. Yes, history and his name were against him. Yes, he would have to fight harder gain people's trust. But the alternative, a life of regret, of not reaching for your desires, was unthinkable.

She rubbed her finger over the small wrapped box in her pocket and quickened her pace down the dark, empty halls.

**************************************************

Draco sat in a large leather chair by the fire in his room, a book that he wasn't reading lay open in his lap. Staring into the orange glowing flames, Draco thought about the day. About Christmas. A small pile of presents lay on the hearth. A small Muggle book of fables that he was pretty sure came from the Headmaster. A man's onyx ring with an ornate "B" engraved on either side of the stone, and a short but kind letter from a grandmother he hadn't seen since he was a small child. And a strange green scarf with a "D" knit into one end, sat once again in the unmarked box it had come in.

Draco hadn't been home for the holidays in a number of years, but even so, Christmas without his mother was harder than he had expected. When he woke up that morning he had almost forgot that she was gone and looked for the large pile of gifts she always sent. But the three presents at the foot of his bed underscored reality in a way that was almost unbearable. Narcissa Malfoy always had overdone it with the gifts, and truth be known, it was the long letter he always got from her on Christmas that he really looked forward to. For some reason, her letters on this holiday were always a bit warmer, or maybe more free, than her other letters and he held these closest to his heart.

When Granger asked him to go to Hogsmeade and he agreed, it was as much for the distraction from his brooding thoughts, as it was because the warmth in her eyes reminded him of the warmth of his mother's letters. And because he was glutton for punishment, and as much as he _knew_ he should stay away from her, he just couldn't. So, even as nothing more than…whatever they were, he went. And honestly, he had enjoyed himself, with the exception of wanting to absorb her into his very soul every fucking minute.

Draco's eyes snapped to his door and the gentle rapping against it. In a smooth motion he stood, threw the book onto the vacated chair, and crossed the room to open the door.

His stomach twisted painfully at the sight of her standing in his doorway. Again. But after her biting words today in the snow, he wouldn't delude himself with the hope that she was here for the reasons he wanted her to be. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms protectively over his chest, tucking his hands under his arms.

She looked at her feet for a second and bit her pink lip, drawing Draco's eyes to her mouth. He groaned silently and pushed down the tiny well of anger her felt towards her just for being here. For flaunting what he wanted and couldn't have _again._

Suddenly she pulled something out of her pocket and thrust it towards him. Draco straightened and stared at the little box, his hand hesitantly coming out to accept the offering.

"Are you going to propose, Granger?" he said dryly. She smiled.

"Happy Christmas, Draco," she said softly.

She was giving him a present.

Draco just stared at the box, his heart aching and confused. Did it hurt, or was it wonderful?

"Aren't you going to open it? Christmas will be over soon."

Draco took a deep breath. No matter how he felt about the witch, it was nice to get a gift from a real person. He would just focus on that. He carefully unwrapped it and opened the silver box, pulling out a little velvet pouch. He tucked the paper and box into his trouser pocket and emptied the pouch into his palm.

A little silver ball on a chain. No. It was snitch. A tiny snitch. When he held the ball between his fingers miniscule translucent wings fluttered slowly, just like a real snitch. It was marvelous.

Draco smiled. But then he frowned. Her best friend always beat him in Quidditch. He looked up at her, the question plainly written on his face.

She seemed a little nervous, but lifted her chin. "You're a seeker, Draco," she said firmly and Draco continued to stare questioningly at her.

"You're a _great_ seeker. And seekers go after what they want and don't let anything get in their way. It's...it's just because you shouldn't let anything stop you from going after what you want."

"And…," she looked at the floor again, and then lifted her head, her cheeks tinged pink. "And, because I believe in you."

Draco's heart thumped. It _did_ hurt. And it _was_ wonderful.

He knew she was talking about the Aurorship. Her needling about it earlier had frustrated him. He didn't think he could handle _another_ disappointment in his life. But here she was, _believing_ in him. A part of him wanted to hate her for it, to tell her that he didn't need her to believe in him. But another part of him wanted to pull her to him and envelop her and make her _always_ believe in him.

And he couldn't do either.

But then another part of him spoke up. The part of him that was desperate for an ally, desperate to finally have someone on his side, cheering him on. And he was filled with gratitude.

Draco leaned over and kissed Hermione on the cheek, like he'd seen Potter do, like a friend would do, after receiving a thoughtful gift.

"Thank you," he said softly in her ear. And he stayed there a moment, breathing in the scent of her, like a man who loved her would do.

A man who could do nothing else because she didn't want him to.

He straightened to find her looking at her feet again and his brows came together in bewilderment as he watched a pink stain bloom on her neck and run up to her cheeks. She was breathing faster and then her head shot up and her eyes were wide and scared. Draco was caught off guard by the sudden change, but the signs he thought he recognized. And then she was mumbling "you're welcome" and scurrying away, leaving Draco standing in his doorway with his heart thumping hopefully in his chest.

**************************************************

Hermione stabbed at a chunk of potato repeatedly and tried to control her breathing. Draco's thigh was pressed up against hers as he reached for a roll. If she kept her eyes down, she hoped maybe no one would notice her problem. In any case she was about to burn a hole through her plate, and maybe the table, and maybe the floor too.

Hiding her reaction to Draco's closeness was becoming difficult. Each time he brushed up against her, her body would tingle. Yesterday when he lay on top of her in the snow, she fought to keep her hips from rotating up to meet his. And last night, _God,_ last night when she felt his warm lips on her face and then his soft breath on her neck, she thought she would burn up in a blazing inferno. And he had barely touched her.

But her body remembered. It remembered every moment of when he had touched every part of her. And it wanted to feel that way again. Desperately. Which she absolutely couldn't allow. If Draco Malfoy knew that she ached for him to touch her again, he would have power over her. He would be able to crush her.

So she concentrated on breathing in and out, instead of how the bare skin of his forearm felt so silky, sliding across her wrist as he pulled his arm back from the center of the table.

_In and out. In and out._

"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione jumped a little at the intrusion of the Headmaster's voice, "If you have time today, I was wondering if the both of you could meet me in my office after breakfast. I could use your assistance with a small matter."

"Yes, Sir," they both said at once and then looked at each other. Hermione immediately dropped her eyes back to her attempt at burning a hole through her plate.

**************************************************

Hermione's mind and Hermione's body were fighting an epic battle. As she and Draco made their way to the Headmaster's office, she struggled with each step to neither run from him, nor throw herself against him.

Her steps felt uneven and difficult, and her ability to appear unaffected had abandoned her. She thought, if she could just stay a step in front of him, then he wouldn't know and she would be safe.

**************************************************

Draco felt like an animal in a mating ritual. He would come close and the female would move away. But the female blushed, and beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, and her eyes glazed in an invitation. So, he would move in again, only to have her move away. It was making him crazy.

Draco lengthened his stride to keep up with her. She was walking fast. The hem at the back of her skirt flapping to the quick rhythm of her steps. The backs of her knees calling to him as they creased and unfolded. His fingers itched with the urge to grab her and end the relentless dance, but she stayed just out of reach.

When they arrived at the gargoyle that marked that entrance to the spiral staircase leading to Dumbledore's office, Hermione rushed out the password and climbed two steps before he caught up. Draco stepped in behind her and the stones began their slow grinding twist upwards.

Enclosed in the narrow column of stone with her, time seemed to slow down, and their heavy breaths echoed off the walls. Draco stood inches behind her, the pink blotchy pattern on her neck clearly visible where her curls had been pulled back. The evidence of her desire – last night, at breakfast, here, now – destroyed the last of his control, and heart beat wildly as his palm wrapped around her hip and then slid slowly to her belly.

He felt her breath hitch beneath his open palm and he pulled her back into him. Draco's body soared as she let out a small whimpering sound and her back pressed into his chest. _Yes._ She _did_ want him. Her head fell back on his shoulder, exposing her neck, and he lowered his mouth to her hot skin.

God.

Their destination, getting closer as the ground moved, was pushed to the back of Draco's mind as his lips and tongue moved up, in slow, wet sucks, from the base of her neck to just below her ear. She moaned again and the sound went straight to his cock.

"Granger…" he growled in her ear and traced the shell with the tip of his tongue. He felt her melt into him and he pulled her tighter and ground his hardening cock against her ass.

"Granger," he said again.

There was a small jolt as the stairs slid into place at the top of the column, and she pulled away from him quickly. Draco dropped his head and shut his eyes, defeated by time and circumstance. He took a couple deep breaths to steady him as the stone wall slid open and he watched Hermione rush through.

_Damn it._


	27. Catching the Snitch

Draco's head was pounding. Whatever the old man was saying was registering only in blips and muffled bursts. Peeves. House-elves. Someone was too old. Something was too late at night. He couldn't focus on the words, just the pounding in his head and in his veins, and the witch sitting rigidly in her chair.

Granger lied to him. The lie was written all over body and her face, written in the red marks streaking down her neck, and in the way her eyes didn't stray from Dumbledore once.

An indignant fire was coursing through Draco, mixing with his suffocating need to touch her again, to touch her everywhere and make her _his._

If Dumbledore was aware of Draco's problem, he didn't show it. He was grateful that the old man didn't say anything when Draco went to stand at the side of the room instead of sitting in the chair next to her. To sit down, in his agitated state, would be difficult. To sit so close to _her,_ when he wanted nothing more than total possession of her, would be impossible.

He watched her nod at the Headmaster and was glad that at least she was following him. Whatever it was, he could find out later, _after_ he made her confess. God, was the old man ever going to be done?

"Well, I'm certain that between the two of you, it will be cleared up in no time," Dumbledore said, answering Draco's thoughts.

"Yes. I'm sure we can handle it. I'll let you know what happens," she said. Draco nodded in agreement as if he knew what was going on also and thought whatever it was would be no trouble.

"Thank you, Miss Granger." She got up and started walking towards the door. Draco straightened quickly, prepared to pounce at the first opportunity, and her eyes jumped over to him, wide and full of anxiety.

"Mr. Malfoy, if you could stay for a moment…"

_Fuuuuuck!_

Draco turned away from Granger as she hurried out the door. He took a deep breath before focusing on the strange expression on Dumbledore's face.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Dumbledore started.

The ball of dread that suddenly formed in his stomach was trying to push his thoughts of Granger out of the way, and he sat down, a little more alert than he had been a moment before.

"Draco, I think you know that there was an Order meeting a few days ago," Draco's jaw tensed and he nodded. "And you probably know that Harry was going to bring up your request to join?"

Draco held his breath waiting for judgment. Would they not let him? Had his history and his lineage sealed his fate? Dumbledore smiled kindly at him, probably sensing his fear.

"I won't tell you that everyone was immediately accepting, but I'm sure that you guessed that would be the case. Harry was pretty adamant that you be allowed to join, and I am in agreement with him that you would be an invaluable asset. That said, there are others who just want to be sure of your intentions."

"Veritaserum," Draco said knowingly.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Harry said that you had mentioned that to him. Is that something you would you be willing – "

"Yes. Absolutely," he interrupted.

Draco honestly felt that he had nothing to hide from the Order. Yes, he had hated Potter and all of the Golden Trio at one time. Yes, he had gone out of his way to ridicule them. And yes, unfortunately, he had once believed that Muggleborns should not be allowed to study or practice magic. He couldn't take back his past, or that he had once spewed all the nonsense he had been taught. All he could do was go forward and, this time chose his path for himself.

An image of Granger appeared in his mind, eyes heavy-lidded and warm, and his stomach twisted.

He wanted this. Wanted it desperately. Somehow, in some warped part of his mind, joining the Order had gotten all mixed up with her. The two had become intrinsically linked, the Order and Granger, a soft, tangled ball of knots.

He had known where his loyalties were for quite a while, since before _her,_ But now, _because of her,_ he wanted this more. It was his secret hope, more secret than his desire for the troublesome witch, the way the two things had merged so that he felt like he couldn't have one – didn't _want_ one – without the other.

Draco leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of them. "I don't want everyone to be there." He kept his eyes on the floor, the image of Granger still hovering in the front of his mind.

"And," he hesitated not knowing how to verbalize his concerns. "Well… I know how I was, when I was younger, but…" he looked up at Dumbledore's warm expression. He couldn't think of how to say what he meant. He wanted to be judged for what he thought now, not for his misguided ways in the past.

Dumbledore seemed to understand. "People change, Draco. Don't worry."

"Thank you, Sir." He said sincerely as he stood to leave. He turned just as he got to the door. "When will it be?"

"New Year'sYears Day."

**************************************************

Enclosed in the stairwell again, alone this time, he let the image of Granger's sated face and sex-messed hair become clearer. He would have to tell her eventually. What would she say? Would she think it was because of her? Would he lie to her? Like she was lying to him?

His anger at being lied to, by _her,_ seemed to unleash the longing he had been struggling to contain for days and he felt his face flush at the thought of what he wanted from her. Of what he wanted to make her give. He just had to find her.

**************************************************

Hermione listened to the fast clip of her shoes echoing off the stone walls. It sounded too loud, too fast, and it made the knot of panic still clenching in her chest, twist even tighter. For one brief instant she had let her guard down. And now, the tension built up from breakfast, from Draco's thigh flush with hers, from his skin skimming over her wrist, and then from his large palm flat on her stomach, and the wall of his body she had pressed up against, and then from his lips on her neck, had set her body blazing.

Her knickers felt damp and sticky, and she was embarrassed and afraid of her body's reaction to him. She just needed to get to her room. To hide.

But just as she was about to turn into a long corridor, another set of footsteps joined hers and her heart dropped into her stomach.

She couldn't turn around and she didn't need to. The castle was almost empty and this corridor was deserted even when the castle was full of students. Hermione rounded the corner and the moment she knew she was out of his sight, she quickened her pace again. Gryffindor courage be damned!

**************************************************

A flash of pale blue and honey brown appeared ahead of him and Draco's stomach flip-flopped. She was within his reach.

He watched her speed up and knew that she was aware he was behind her. And then she disappeared around a corner. She was trying to escape him.

"_You're a seeker, Draco. You're a great seeker. And seekers go after what they want and don't let anything get in their way." _

**************************************************

Hermione's heart was beating unbelievably hard. She had to get away before she made a fool of herself. The soft falls of Draco's long stride were getting louder, closer, and Hermione felt her panic ratchet higher.

She sped up, trying not to look like she was actually _running_ from him. She wanted desperately to look back, to see how much space was between them, to know that she was safe, but she couldn't. If he saw her face now, he would _know!_ But he was gaining on her and she heard his steps speed up also.

She risked one quick glance back to see just how close to danger she was. Her eyes widened in alarm. The fierce, penetrating look in Draco's grey eyes was fixed on her. And the tight set of his jaw, and steady advance left no doubt as to his intent.

For the briefest second, Hermione almost stopped and gave in. She felt pinned by the intensity of those arctic eyes, she _wanted_ to be pinned, to succumb, to do anything and everything he wanted. But she was terrified of him – of _Draco Malfoy_ – having that kind of power over her, so she forced herself to keep moving.

She rounded another corner, coming into a small bright corridor. If she could just make it to that other corner… But then he was right behind her and her heart was slamming into her chest. She could feel him. She wasn't going to make it.

The instant his hand began to wrap around her arm, it was as if a great switch had been thrown. Her thinking was scrambled, and all the energy she had been putting into escaping him changed courses suddenly and flung itself in the opposite direction.

**************************************************

The attack of Granger's skinny arms flying around his neck and the smashing of her small wet mouth on his, was like being smacked in the face by a wall of water, and for a moment he staggered underneath it.

Within seconds though, her eager body pushing him backwards and the desperation in her kisses and her hands, made Draco's desire flare, and he returned the attack ferociously.

He held her head between his two hands thrust into the mess of her hair, as his tongue made suicidal dives into her hot mouth, swirling around her tongue and diving again. She was frantic, like she was trying to climb up his body or pull him down to the floor, grasping at his shoulders and back and whimpering. The small sounds slipping into his mouth with her crazy kisses was making him feel like he was spinning out of control and he balled her curls in his fists and held her head still while he plundered her mouth.

Draco felt like he couldn't get close enough and he walked her backwards into the wall, capturing her between himself and the rough stone. He ground his hard cock against her. He had her pinned to the wall, and her hands were everywhere, on his neck, in his hair, grabbing his waist and his ass, pulling him against her harder. Draco felt like he was drowning in her. He was being sucked into the blazing whirlpool of Hermione Granger and he didn't care. He wanted to stay here, burning, in this bright hallway forever.

She moaned into his mouth and the sound traveled down into his stomach. With his fist of curls he ripped her mouth away from his and yanked her head back. He stared down at her feverish face, sunlight passing through half-open amber eyes and making them glow gold. They stood there, breathing hard, and staring at each other.

The corridor window was throwing bright winter light over them like a spotlight. In the back of Draco's mind he registered that they were in a seldom-used corridor, out in the open where anyone could see them. The risky thought spurred him on.

Granger's hips rotated towards him and a growl built in his throat. His eyes went to the column of skin below her jaw and he bared his teeth, swooping down to her neck. He sucked at the skin at her pulse, pulling it into his mouth. And then her hot hands were suddenly on his bare stomach, shoved under his sweater and t-shirt and he groaned into her neck. How was this little witch undoing him so easily?

Draco tightened his grip in her hair and tilted her head back further, licking and biting at the skin below her ear. He grabbed the back of her thigh with his other hand and pulled her leg up, bending slightly to grind his pelvis against her core. His hand slid up her thigh to the pocket of warmth between her legs and his stomach somersaulted. He was so close and the heat engulfed his hand.

Gently, barely touching her, Draco trailed his long middle finger over the damp silky fabric hugging her pussy lips.

**************************************************

Hermione felt a mild panic shoot through her when his fingers touched the front of her knickers and she opened her eyes enough to scan the hallway.

"Have you been thinking about me, Granger?" he whispered menacingly in her ear. His gravelly voice went right through her and their compromising position was instantly forgotten as her eyes slid shut again.

"Have you, Granger?"

Her brows creased and she rocked her hips forward. God yes, she'd been thinking of him. Her whole body burned with how badly she wanted him again. It overwhelmed her and she could barely think straight. But, there was no way she could tell him that. All she could do was moan.

"I've been thinking about you, too," he said, his voice low and rough. Hermione's heart leapt. He flattened his palm on her sex and his fingers suddenly closed. She groaned and he licked the shell of her ear. "I've been thinking about this. Every time I stroke my cock, I think about fucking you."

_Oh God. _

He released her and began stroking along her slit again, pressing the fabric between her lips.

"Are you wet, Granger?" he whispered. She rolled her hips towards his hand as he skated past her swollen clit. Hermione was wound tight, the coil of desire in her abdomen desperate to let loose. When she didn't answer, he bit her earlobe hard, making her suck in a breath.

"Oh, it's okay, Granger. You don't have to tell me," his fingers pressed harder into her clothed pussy lips. She could _feel_ the evil grin on his face. "I'm going to find out anyway."

Before she could process his meaning, he had yanked her knickers down her thighs and was pushing her legs father apart with his foot. She was about to protest when suddenly there was a long finger sinking deep into her pussy. Her head fell back against the stone. _Oh yes. Yes._

Hermione had to bite her lip hard to stifle her moans. She thought she might be going mad. She was in a very open, very bright corridor, with her supposed enemy's finger thrusting into her pussy, and she couldn't stop herself from grinding down on his hand.

"God, Granger, your pussy is so wet," he moaned gruffly.

A flash of heat suffused her face, but her embarrassment was no match for the ache building in her lower abdomen.

**************************************************

Draco pulled back to look down at the Head Girl. Cheeks blushing pink, eyes half closed, and her little pink mouth open in a soft oval. His eyes fixed on her mouth and he pulled his drenched finger out of her and brought it to her lips.

He pulled on the curls, tilting her head back into a position of perfect submission, and dragged his slick, wet fingers clumsily over her lips. For a second he just looked at her, with her head cradled in his hand and her lips shining thickly with her juices. He'd never seen anything sexier in his life.

And then he slowly plunged his sticky finger into the heat of her barely open mouth. He felt his eyes roll back in his head.

"Suck," he commanded. Her lips closed around his finger and _fuck_ he needed to get his cock in her mouth. He angled his hand high so that she had to keep her head bent back as he sunk into her mouth, fucking her mouth, slowly, over and over.

"Do you lick your pussy juice off your fingers when you're alone in your room? Do you pretend you're sucking my cock?" She sucked hard, drawing his finger in, and twisted her tongue around it. He tried to imagine her lying in her bed, under her covers with her legs spread. He wanted to watch her pump her small fingers into her wet pussy. To rub her clit until she came. He wanted to see the private act. Right here. Right now.

Draco pulled his finger out of her mouth and covered her mouth with his. He stroked his tongue over hers. There it was, that taste that was only hers. The taste of Hermione Granger's pussy.

"Show me your pussy," he commanded.

Her eyes got wide and she shook her head, looking around the hallway again. "Not here," she said under her breath.

"Yes. Here. Lift up your skirt."

**************************************************

Locking her gaze on the sharp, crystal grey eyes above her, Hermione tentatively brought the hem of her skirt to the tops of her thighs. She couldn't believe she was doing this. Especially here. But her blood was racing through her veins and she felt heady and reckless.

Draco growled and grabbed her hand holding her skirt, and pulled it up roughly, pressing it to her torso. Hermione's breath hitched. She was exposed completely, with her legs parted and her knickers slung around her thighs. She could feel the cool wintry air hit the wetness between her legs. She stared at Draco with wide eyes, and blushed hard. He was staring at her pussy.

"God yes," he ground out and grabbed her pussy a bit roughly. "You have such a beautiful cunt!"

Hermione's heart was thumping hard and Draco kept his grip on her sex and in her hair. He looked up at her, eyes hard and glittering.

"Do you touch your pretty pussy when you're alone in your bed at night?" Hermione felt frozen in place and just stared at him.

"Do you?" he tugged on her hair making her whimper softly.

"Yes." It was so quiet she could barely hear herself.

"Do you shove your fingers in your pussy and pretend it's my cock?"

"Yes."

He leaned in towards her, bringing his mouth to her ear. She could feel his hot breath fanning over her cheek and down her neck. She felt like melting into the stone behind her.

"I want to watch you. I want to see how you touch your pussy when you're alone."

Hermione stared unseeingly at the wall across the corridor, her mind buzzing. She was so turned on she felt like she could explode. And for reasons she didn't know, didn't _want_ to know, she wanted to submit. She wanted to follow his orders. Even though she was standing in an open corridor where anyone could walk in on them, and she risked unimaginable humiliation, she wanted to do what he said.

She closed her eyes and slowly, hesitantly, brought her hand down to her sex. Her arms held her skirt up against her body and for a second her fingers just hovered over her lips.

God! How could she do this? Why did he _want_ her to do this? She tapped her clit once, hidden in the folds of her sex. _Oh yes._ Then her fingers pressed a little harder. _Oh. Fuck yes._ Hermione could feel the coil of need pull tighter.

Draco moved a little to the side, making her feel more exposed. She could feel the hardness of his cock pressed against her hip as he moved against her. His hand was still wound tightly in her hair and he tugged at it.

"Spread your pussy lips."

Hermione shut her eyes tight. She was breathing so hard and she had barely touched herself. But fuck she wanted to. She slid her fingers between her wet lips and spread her fingers in a wide 'v', opening her pussy for Draco to see. A cold blast of air hit her exposed clit and washed over the hot wetness between her thighs.

"Yesss. Good girl," he groaned and kicked her legs open more with his foot. "Stay like that." Hermione swallowed hard, waiting for his next order, feeling achy and desperate.

Draco tapped her exposed clit and her hips jerked. _Oh God. Yes. Please._ Hermione stifled a moan in protest as his fingers moved away.

"Do you want to come, Granger?"

"Yes! Please." she begged.

"Make yourself come. I want to watch you rub your clit."

Hermione's free hand flew to her clit and she immediately began rubbing hard circles on it. She felt so close, her need to come so intense, that she let go and bucked her hips as she circled her clit hard and fast with one hand and shoved the fingers of her other into her pussy.

**************************************************

Draco pulled back to watch her. Her eyes were almost shut and her brows screwed up in pleasure, mouth open and panting, and an expression of complete surrender that took his breath away.

And her fingers, working so hard to make her come, moving over her wet pink pussy made his cock ache in anticipation. He just needed to see this. To make her make herself come like this, for him, and then he would sink his cock into her and fuck her hard.

**************************************************

"That's it, Granger, play with you wet pussy." Hermione groaned. The wet sounds of her fingers pumping into her filled the corridor and her embarrassment added to the lewdness of this whole act.

Draco's breath was fanning over ear again. "How many times have you thought about me while you shoved your fingers in your cunt?" he waited for a second. "Once? Twice?" he waited again and then leaned in so close she could feel his lips on her ear. "Every night?" he hissed.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Do you think about my tongue shoved up in your cunt? Do you pretend I am pounding into you? Do you pinch your nipples and wish it was me?"

She moaned loudly, her hips going wild and her fingers working fast and hard. He could see the sweat forming on her hairline. The sight of her body writhing with her skirt pulled up, exposing herself, and the desperation on her face made Draco feel like his cock might explode without even touching it.

She moaned again and the sound bounced off the walls. She was getting close. Draco leaned over her and clamped his hand over her mouth.

"Look at me, Granger!" he commanded, his face only inches from hers. Her brows were knit together in a pained expression and her glassy eyes struggled to stay open. She was an exquisite study of tension and bliss, colliding over her delicate features.

"Do you want to come?"

She nodded frantically into his hand, her eyes searching and begging. Draco grabbed the hand that was working inside her and pulled it away, thrusting his own fingers back into her clenching hot pussy and fucking her deeply in rhythm with her fingers rubbing her clit. Her hips began to move in uncoordinated jerks and Draco picked up speed.

Suddenly, Draco's heart leapt. Voices.

His head whipped up to find Granger looking panic-stricken. She heard them too. But they were a ways off and she was so close. His hand tightened over her mouth and he leaned in to whisper quietly in her ear.

"Shhhh. Come on, Granger. Come for me. I want to feel your pussy coming on my fingers." Her breathing deepened and her hips started moving again, picking up speed until she was once again gyrating wildly. Draco thrust hard into her. The voices had gotten a little closer.

"Come for me, Granger. Come on, kitten. Come on my fingers. Come!"

With a great wrenching cry into his hand, her body went rigid as her pussy convulsed around his fingers.

Draco watched her face in awe as she came down. She was sweaty and flushed and exhausted and absolutely beautiful. He was overwhelmed and he wrapped his arms tightly around her back, clutching her trembling body to his chest.

He wanted nothing more than to lay her down and slowly sink his cock into her, but the voices were getting louder and he knew he'd have to wait. He reached down and pulled up her knickers, smoothing her skirt down and giving her a once over to make sure she was presentable.

He chuckled. Her eyes were dazed and glassy. Voldemort himself could walk around that corner and she probably wouldn't notice.

He pulled her to him one more time, her arms going loosely around his waist, and he buried his face in her curls.

"No more running from me, Hermione," he whispered in her ear and then kissed her softly on her temple. He took a deep breath and let her go to head off the approaching students, and after that, make his way to his room where he had some unfinished business.


	28. It's my life too, Granger

Hermione stared hard into the thick flood of white-gold light streaming through the window, eyes watering. It was excruciating and she couldn't turn away, or even blink. The world on the other side of that window was obscured, wiped out and erased, leaving her alone on her shaky legs in a silent hallway. It was as if her entire existence had narrowed to only include these twenty feet of light-washed stone and one repeating question.

What on earth was she doing?

She had lost her mind and she was pretty sure Draco was hiding it. There seemed to be an energy field around him, and every time she got close to it, her thinking was scrambled. Now, here, in the aftermath of what she had just done, of what she had allowed to happen, she could feel her thoughts slowly coalescing, regrouping, and what she was left with was as blurry as her watery vision.

Hermione turned to press her palms and her burning cheeks against the cool stone. Closing her eyes tight, the sun-induced tears leaked down her face in a slow trickle. No, she wasn't crying, not exactly, but she felt very close to losing her hold on something terrible that was flirting at the edges of her mind.

"No more running from me, Hermione."

The words we knocking against the fog in her brain. No more running. She was ashamed that she ran from him, that her bravery had failed her against the one person she had never been afraid of. But the right and wrong of it all seemed so unclear.

The push and pull in Hermione's mind and in her body was making her crazy. She felt mixed up and tumbled around, and she was afraid she might never straighten out.

A decision needed to be made.

* * *

Draco tried to hold in the amused smirk that was threatening to show itself to the gathered lunch party.

Granger was sitting on the bench next to him with her chin high and a poor mask of indifference, or maybe disdain, etched on her features. It was comical, really. It reminded him of an eleven year-old Granger, full of self-importance and righteousness, marching through the halls as if this new world she was in didn't scare the shit out of her, like it did everyone else.

So, this is how it was going to be. She said hello politely and then proceeded to pretend he wasn't there. Draco thought not.

He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "You're not that good of an actress, Granger. Relax."

The effect was like letting the air out of a balloon and she visibly sagged in her seat. Draco frowned.

She turned to him, defeated. "Can you just…I don't know, just…"

Draco examined her pleading eyes and wasn't sure what he saw there. Had he made such a grave error of judgment? Did she want him to leave her alone after all? But, no, there was something else, and he couldn't put his finger on it. A wave of hurt, or anger, swept through him and he covered it with his brisk reply.

"I said relax, Granger." He turned away from her, suddenly no longer hungry, and filled with an urgent need to leave before he did or said something he would regret. With all the poise and grace befitting a Malfoy, he gently pushed his plate away and stood to leave.

* * *

It was worse. To have him gone. It hurt somewhere in the center of her back. Like a cord was wrapped around her lungs and pulled tighter the further he went.

As soon as the door to the Great Hall closed behind him, Hermione stood up and said her goodbyes. A great, solemn weight seemed to have settled over her. She wanted to sleep.

* * *

A soft tapping at her window pulled Hermione out of her heavy slumber three hours later. Harry's snowy white owl fluttered outside, bathed in the gentlest pink and peach and blending with the soothing winter sunset. After the bird flew off, Hermione stood at her window for many minutes, letting her gaze go soft and unfocused, letting herself be comforted.

The package of letters was thick. She read Ginny's first, full of Harry, her brothers and dancing with bright energy that made Hermione smile despite her weariness. Ron's was short and friendly and hesitant to mention Lavender. The letter from Mrs. Weasley, on behalf of her family, was full of warmth, cookies and wishing Hermione had come to stay. Hermione really did love the Weasley's.

Breaking the seal on the last letter, Hermione settled against her headboard. Harry's letters were unpredictable. He might write her five pages of Quidditch and Weasley pranks and nothing important, or he might scribble half a paragraph of anguish. This letter appeared, in length anyway, to be somewhere in between and Hermione found she was eager to be sucked into someone else's life for a little while.

She became instantly more alert when she saw the blank pages and recognized Harry's secret disillusionment spell. Order business then. She cast the revealing spell and started reading. The beginning was remarkably similar to Ginny's letter. Hermione could picture the Burrow, full of life and mischievous antics, the non-stop thundering of large young men up and down the stairs, and the air thick with the smell of food. She longed for the easy familiarity of her friends.

The last page detailed the Order meeting that had taken place. They were of age now, but except for Harry, they were still only allowed to go to certain meetings. And Harry dutifully filled them in every time. Harry told her about the speculation as to Voldemort's whereabouts, as well as some incidents that they suspected Death Eaters were behind.

Hermione was filled with pride for her friend. In the last year and half he had taken charge of his role in defeating Voldemort. No longer would he be led around and told what to do in bits and pieces. Harry had adopted a level-headed, offensive attitude about it. He was going to win and he never let himself or anyone else doubt it for a moment. In her heart, Hermione knew that Harry had needed to hold onto that belief no matter what, in order to stay sane, in order to move forward. But secretly, she was still terrified for him. And she would never, ever show it.

She scanned the remainder of the letter and her eyes caught on a word that made her heart skip a beat. "Malfoy…"

"Ron wasn't too happy about Malfoy. You should have seen his face. I thought he was going to have a fit or something. Instead we were all treated to him stomping around like a two year old and whining. It was kind of funny - for the first hour.

Can't say he was the only one who was upset, but most people seem to be holding their judgment until after he takes the Veritaserum. It's understandable. I was pretty shocked when he asked to join."

Join? Hermione could hear her breathing coming out shallow and fast. Join? What?

"But I guess it makes sense, doesn't it? Voldemort killed his parents. Of course he'd want revenge. And obviously he's changed his mind about Muggleborns."

Yes. Obviously. Hermione's eyes were wide and her hands shook as she finished the letter.

"I guess we'll see what happens in a few days.

Wish you had come to the Burrow for Christmas. It wasn't the same without you. But, I'll see you soon.

Love, Harry"

She had barely made out the last line before she was flying down the stairs to the HCR, letter in hand.

* * *

Draco arched his back against the arm of the couch and frowned at the neglected book on his knees. There was something off about the HCR now. He couldn't seem to get comfortable anywhere he sat. His desk. The large chair. And now the couch. He scowled at the spot across from him and wondered briefly if her weight and presence in her usual spot would solve the problem.

Her behavior at lunch left him unsettled. Never once in all the years that he had known her, had he seen her look so…defeated. At one time in his life he would have done anything to make her look like that. And now, the thought that he had made him feel sick.

But, it didn't make sense. He stayed away, and she would show up. He didn't touch her, and she would blush. And she told him that she was thinking about him. And most important, she was Hermione Granger. If she didn't want someone to touch her, they would certainly know it. He thought of Blaise Zabini and shuddered.

The door to the HCR swung open and Draco nearly jumped off the couch, startled at the sudden noise. Twisting to look over his shoulder, he was met with a Granger that he had seen before, many, many times. This was the Granger that made you immediately try to remember where your wand was.

"Granger," he greeted her carefully, turning on the couch and putting his feet firmly on the floor.

She was breathing hard, and her cheeks were wonderfully flushed. Or, it would have been wonderful, if her amber eyes were also not sparking violently. At him.

Draco took a deep breath and let it out hard. She was practically shaking. Fine. Best to have at it then. "What is it, Granger?"

For a second, she just stood there staring hard at him. He wanted to squirm under her fire.

"Why didn't you tell me?" It was quiet and controlled and Draco's heart dropped into his stomach. His eyes went to the pages of parchment clutched in her hand. They had told her.

Truthfully, he really didn't know what to say. His reasons for not telling her were nebulous. Fuzzy, even to him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she repeated, shaking the papers angrily at him.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? You don't know?" She looked a little hysterical and Draco was, again, unsettled. He just looked at her, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Don't you think you should have told me?"

"It's not really your business." He cringed inwardly. That was not the right thing to say and he knew it. She spluttered for a second before regaining her footing.

"You want to be in the Order! You want to abandon all your little Slytherin pure-blood friends, and…and..." the parchments crinkled in her hand as she flailed her arm around looking for the words. Draco scowled. He thought they were over this matter of blood.

"Granger…"

"I'm in the Order, Malfoy!" she shouted. The use of his surname was like a knife slashed across his chest and he stood up suddenly to tower over her.

Unphased, she crushed the parchment against her chest, pointing at herself, "I'm in the Order, and…what? You can tell Harry, but not me?" she squealed.

Draco was completely taken aback by her outrage. He wasn't sure what he imagined would happen when she found out, but this was not it. Was she actually angry that he wanted to be on her side? Fear was suddenly gripping him. He felt like he was on the verge of losing his last chance. His one opportunity to reach for something good in the world, to rise up out of the ashes of his old life. It was all wrapped up in her and Potter and the Order, and the fire sparking off her felt like it could incinerate all of that in a second.

"What do you want, Granger?" he lashed out. "Would you rather have me join the Death Eaters? Am I not good enough for you and your sanctimonious Order?"

He saw her eyes drop to his mouth and in answer, his dropped to hers. He was much too close for how angry he was, and he turned his back on her to stop himself from kissing her, or shaking her, or squeezing her until she relented.

He took a few steps away and heard her stomp her foot behind him. When he felt he was a safe distance he faced her again. Her eyes were large and wild and desperate. He had seen her anger before, but this was something else. She looked like a trapped rabbit being stalked by a panther. He took another step backward.

"Don't be ridiculous! Of course I don't want you to be a Death Eater! But this is my life!" she yelled.

Instantly, the fire left her again, just like it had at lunch, but the panic was still in her eyes. "This is my life," she repeated weakly.

All at once, Draco understood.

This wasn't about him joining the Order. This was about him.

She hadn't made her mind up about him. About them. If it was as simple as her not wanting anything to do with him, she would have simply said so. That was her way. But, no, he hadn't misread her earlier. She did want him. And now she was waging an internal war over it. His joining the Order just raised the stakes.

Draco walked to the window and leaned against the frame, folding his arms over his chest. Better not to look at her.

"It's my life too, Granger," he said softly.

They were both silent then. Draco could feel the space between them filling up, like world outside, hushed by layers and layers soft snow.

"You should have told me," she finally whispered.

He closed his eyes. "I didn't want you to think it was because of you."

"Is it?"

That was the question, wasn't it? And Draco still didn't have the right answer. It hadn't at first.

"No."

Draco stayed by the window with his eyes closed, not wanting to face the world, or her, or anything. After a few minutes, he heard the portrait door shut. He opened his eyes and let out his breath and watched it ghost on the window, obscuring the snowy pink landscape.

For a long time, he just stayed there, looking out the window and letting his mind retrace the events of the day. Breakfast, Granger flustered and blushing, the meeting with Dumbledore, the Order, the glorious sight of Hermione bathed in white light, eyes heavy and full of wild lust and need. And then lunch, and her defensive posturing, and the way she deflated at his words. And this. What was this?

This was Granger at war. The sensible Hermione Granger, ruled by her intellect and reason, locked in battle with this new person, passionate and untamed, and out of control. Under his control.

Draco knew that she was at crossroads. And he knew that he could not sway this decision. She had to decide what she wanted on her own.

She would have to come to him.

* * *

Peeves had some dastardly plan, it seemed. The house elves had informed the Headmaster that late at night, Peeves would steal stacks of plates from the kitchens, and fly through the Great Hall practicing his aim at the seats of the house tables.

After the first 200 plates went missing, and then were found and cleaned up the next morning, the house elves had placed a sticking magic on the plates so they couldn't be moved. But then the juice pitchers all disappeared and were later found in shards on the floor of the Great Hall. For a couple days, the unruly ghost moved on to non-kitchen items. Textbooks, spare cauldrons, and Filch's vast collection of disused iron manacles.

The house elves complained that unless the entire castle was locked down, they didn't know what to do. Dumbledore assured the distraught creatures that they had been very helpful and that he would take care of it.

That was why Hermione was walking through the old castle at nearly two in the morning, rubbing her eyes, yawning.

She opened the heavy oak door slowly and winced as it creaked and groaned. So much for stealth, she thought. But the ghost was nowhere to be seen at the moment.

Hermione took a few steps into the hall. It was eerie, and also comforting, washed in blue moonlight, with large snowflakes falling slowly and silently, but never hitting. This had always bothered her. When it rained or snowed, and she could see the sky pouring down, the lack of completion, of never feeling the water land on her face, made her feel like things were left unfinished. Like she had forgotten to do her homework.

Now, she stared up at the enchanted ceiling and imagined the snow falling like a down blanket over her, covering her in a soft sheet of feathers.

The house tables formed long rows, painting the room in pale blue and near-black stripes. Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and at the front of the room, raised up on the platform, looking over all the rest, was the head table, shining brightly in the moonlight.

She felt small in the vast, empty room. Unnoticeable, like she could blend in with the wood and stone and no one would know. It was a good feeling right now. Quiet. Like hiding.

Seven years of habit led her down the long aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables and she climbed into her seat. Even without Ron and Harry marking her spot like bookends, she knew the exact spot that was hers. She knew the exact pattern of scratches in the wood, the unfinished carving of "Re" she had run her fingers over on her first day, the particular arrangement of water marks from hundreds of wet goblets and accidental spills. And she knew that if she looked up, and turned her head just so, she could pinpoint the exact spot Draco sat in every day.

Instead, she looked to the front of the hall and the long table standing proudly, like a sentinel in the night, stable and strong. She had never imagined that table would become so important in her life as it seemed now. Just as she had never imagined that she would have to sit at that table next to Draco Malfoy. And that each time she did, she would have to remind herself to breathe normally.

He had been distant at dinner. Neither of them even said hello. He only held her gaze for a moment and then turned away. It hurt her. As she imagined she had hurt him with her outburst. She regretted it. The truth was that she wasn't sure why she was so upset.

On one hand, she was elated that Draco wanted to be in the Order. It would be good for the Order, and bad for Voldemort. But even more than that, it would be good for him, and his life, and maybe he would get to be an Auror after all. And she believed in him. She really did. Deep in her bones, she could feel his potential, and knew that this was one way that others would be able to see what she saw.

But on the other hand, the one that connected everything to her, she felt….bombarded.

She had lost her virginity to a man that everyone, even her best friends, thought was her enemy, who had been her enemy. And it was more than she had thought possible, more than she could have imagined. Like when she found out she was a witch and a whole world opened up that explained her tendencies and her desires. She was standing in the brick opening to Diagon Alley for the first time, and she was wide-eyed and desperate to not miss a single thing.

She gave up control around him, and it was heady, and distracting. And she wanted to feel that way again and again.

Draco Malfoy was infiltrating her world. He had moved into her thoughts, a constant presence in her brain-space. Space she had never allowed anyone, not even her friends. When she was alone, he was there. Talking to her, touching her, pinning her with his arctic grey eyes. He was always there. And she wanted him to be. That was the part she didn't understand.

And when he was really there, next to her, she couldn't take her mind off how badly she wanted him to touch her again. On the leg, or the arm, or just a knowing look. Anything. And she spent those minutes acutely aware, at every moment, where every part of her body was, and where every part of his body was, and exactly how much space was between them.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the head table and stared again at the old wood in front of her. His spot across the hall was like a magnet, trying to draw her attention there, and she wouldn't give in. She needed to not look there. Not tonight.

* * *

The next day Draco stood again at the window in the HCR. The same soft pink and peach glow fell over the long expanses of snow outside, a little more pale today. He folded his arms over his chest. There was no sign in the room that she had been there. She was keeping her distance.

He felt suspended in time. Waiting for her to decide. She would come to him or she wouldn't. The latter was too much to imagine, and Draco felt like he was holding his breath.

Approaching her could push her the other way, so he had done everything he could to leave her alone. But he was a Slytherin at his core, and while he would do nothing to influence her, he could at least let her know what he wanted, and maybe open the door.

He pulled a quartered piece of parchment out of his desk drawer and dipped his quill in ink.

_The password is asphodel._

_Please come tonight._

_DM_

* * *

She didn't come.

It was past one a.m. and Draco was lying on his back, white cotton sheets tangled around his bare legs, and a weight on his chest that pushed him into the bed and made breathing difficult.

He tried not to think about what he had hoped for. Tried not to imagine her gentle knock at the door. Or the shy smile he thought might grace her face. He just stared at the ceiling, blinking, and thinking, 'she didn't come.'

* * *

That same night, Hermione was sitting in the dark at the Gryffindor table again, giving in to her desire to look.

Yes. That was where Draco sat every day. She could see him there, straight-backed, elegant, long fingers wrapped around a goblet, and his eyes boring into her. In her logical mind, she could only remember a handful of times that Draco had made eye contact with her across the Great Hall.

She felt like she would do anything for that connection with him now. The silence between them was crushing her. And her body… At dinner, he bumped her shoulder when he got up to leave. That small touch bolted through her and spread into a diffused warmth. She was desperate for him to touch her. It made her itch and squirm and ache. It made her want to cry.

* * *

On the third night, Hermione stepped into the Great Hall and held her breath. Her eyes went immediately to Draco's spot. A wave of longing like she had never felt before made her stomach clench. She turned and left immediately.

For two full days he hadn't said anything to her. He had barely acknowledged her presence. At meals she found herself flicking her eyes over at him, repeatedly, wishing that just once he would be looking back at her. She wanted to believe that he was playing some kind of cruel game with her, but she knew better. He was the one that told her to stop running from him, and she all but told him to leave her alone. And she hadn't been back to the HCR in two days. Two horrible, silent days.

When Hermione woke up the next morning, the anxiety she felt about Draco had grown to epic proportions. It was a throbbing ball in her chest, pushing her heart and lungs out of the way. This couldn't go on.

What was it that she wanted exactly? What did he expect from her? What were the ramifications? The risks? She turned the thing over and over and came up with the same fears and the same desires. She had no clear answers. Just her instinctual want.

At dinner that evening, Hermione let herself openly stare at him. She watched his jaw clench, aware that she was looking at him.

Draco finally faced her and held her gaze. Her heart thumped hard. His eyes were hard and cold and made her feel exposed and wrong. He stood up quickly and left and Hermione held back the frustrated tears that wanted to leak down her face.

* * *

Hermione sat in her seat at the Gryffindor table looking at the same place she had been looking since she sat down an hour earlier. The Slytherin table gleamed in the bright moonlight. She couldn't think. She had exhausted the subject and her brain was numb. All she had left was the ache in her body and the pull towards that spot.

Slowly she got up, the square of parchment still clutched in her hand, and crossed the distance. She stood in front of Draco's seat with her heart making low, solid thuds in her chest. A tentative finger reached out, highlighted blue under the moon and the night sky, and traced the wood where Draco sat everyday.

These were his marks, his history. She climbed over the bench and sat in his spot, slowly, taking it all in. Trying to know all that he knew. Hermione looked around the Great Hall. This was Draco's view. This is what the Head Table looked like to him, and the large oak door. Her eyes landed on the spot she had just left. This is what she looked like to him. Three tables and six rows of benches away.

She looked down at the crumpled note in her hand. Please come. She didn't know how long the note had been there, but she knew that she had abandoned him. That he had waited for her and she didn't come. And that it was why he had shut her out so completely.

Hermione closed her eyes and lay her hot cheek on the rough wood. She missed him. She wanted him. She wanted him to touch her and she wanted to touch him too. She wanted it not to be over.

* * *

Outside the Great Hall, in a sort of terrified daze, Hermione turned left instead of right. She kept her face forward and put one foot in front of the other in a slow, steady rhythm until she was standing in front of Draco's room.

She whispered the password and slipped into the room before she could change her mind. On the other side of the door, she stood, shaking, with the note still clutched in her hand.

The coals in Draco's fireplace were still smoldering, giving off a little heat in the dark room. One foot in front of the other until she was standing next to the bed. The bed she had sex in.

He was beautiful. God, Draco was so beautiful. In sleep, like this, with his white blonde hair mussed and his mouth parted softly, he seemed more open. Safer. Like she could tell him things. Secrets.

Draco lay on his stomach, arms shoved under his pillow and one leg bent and escaped from the down blanket and sheets. Dark orange light highlighted the bunched muscles in his back and shoulders, and carved a dark shadow along his spine. Hermione wanted to run her fingers down that line, but she couldn't move.

* * *

He could smell her. Even before Draco opened his eyes, he knew that she was standing there. That strange mix of amber and oranges and honey meant that Hermione Granger was standing there. In his room.

Draco pried open one sleep-bleary eye. She was there. His chest swelled and he blinked open both his eyes, stinging with drowsiness. God. She was there.

She didn't say anything and he didn't say anything back. They just looked at each other. Draco propped himself up on his elbows and watched as she toed off her shoes and socks. He blinked to try to clear the blur as she unhooked her robe and fabric fell off her shoulders and pooled onto the floor.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again to take her in. Granger was standing in his room in a tiny tank top and shorts, her slim smooth legs and arms just barely glowing in the dim room. He groaned and reached out one long arm, hooking it around her waist and dragging her down onto the bed under him, trapping her in the cage of his body.

She was warm and soft and he buried his face in the curve at the base of her neck to breathe her in, that smell enveloping him as he fell back asleep.


	29. Just Like This

It was early. Barely dawn. That time when most things are still content to live in shadow.

Draco was trying to hold onto sleep, to some dream of his body wrapped around Hermione's, trapped underneath him, where he had pulled her down in the middle of the night and covered her like a blanket.

Just a little longer still.

But the curved arch of a foot was making a slow up and down journey along his calf, pulling him into consciousness and into the awareness of deep, even breathing heating and cooling against his chest.

Not a dream.

He lay still a moment, eyes closed, and let his body memorize the feeling of her there.

Sometime in the night, her arms had loosened from around his back and fallen open, and his hands had found their way into her hair.

He was still lying fully on top of her.

Draco lifted his head and opened his eyes to the sight below him. She was locked away behind her closed eyelids, in distant places he couldn't reach, and he bent down and kissed her softly on the cheek.

Carefully, Draco shifted off her to lie at her side, pulling the blankets with him and watching to see that he didn't wake her. He wanted this time for himself. To look at her in the soft, pearly light. To touch her. To know her in ways that his heart wanted to know her.

And to claim her, the only way he knew how.

His long finger reached out and traced the seashell shape of her ear, trailed down, over her jaw to the rounded curve of her chin where he rested his fingertip for a moment before continuing down her neck. With his whole hand, he cupped the full column of her throat, sleep-warm and vulnerable, and calling for his kisses.

At the base of her throat, he circled around the hollow hidden in shadow, and pressed his finger softly into it. Hermione inhaled deeply and turned her head toward him, so that her throat was dusted with the soft light. But she didn't wake.

Draco looked at her face, relaxed and blank, as though she had left her body and it was waiting patiently for her here.

He drew a straight line over the delicate ridge of her collarbone, and then back, to repeat the action on the other side. Draco's mind was still, like the air in the room, like this moment in time. And as his hand curved around her shoulder, he remembered another early morning, when he had first put his mouth on that same shoulder.

**********

Gently, so gently, and so slowly, Hermione came into consciousness. The warmth and weight she had slept under was gone and her body yearned to find it again. Before she opened her eyes, she became aware that Draco was touching her. A large swath of warmth along her arm as he moved down to her hand.

With each of her fingers that he uncurled, Hermione woke a little more, until finally, as his fingertip was drawing small figure eights in the bowl of her palm, she opened her eyes.

Draco's gaze was fixed on her hand and Hermione watched him quietly, feeling like she had caught him in a private act, and not wanting to ruin the intimate moment.

She watched his face, thoughtful and intent, watched him flatten her hand under his, measuring the length of her fingers with his, pressing the tips of his fingers to hers, his palm pushed to her palm, and then weaving his long fingers between hers. She closed her fingers on his hand, holding him there, and he looked up to meet her eyes.

The moment stretched out, silent and long, as they stared at each other in the grey, early light, something unnamable – something binding – passing between them, until Draco lifted her captured hand to his lips.

Hermione's heart thumped hard in her chest as he kissed the back of her hand and then stretched her arm above her head, and then her other arm, crossing her wrists as if bound. He paused there, holding her wrists together, pinning her with his eyes and his silent command to keep her hands still. Hermione swallowed.

She was stretched out before him like an offering on an altar.

She watched as Draco's eyes followed his fingers, down the soft underside of her arm, circling the point of her elbow, stroking the bend opposite it, and then down, over the warm, delicate skin of her underarm, to the curved side of her relaxed breast, still covered in thin cotton.

A tiny glimmer of light flickered against Draco's chest and caught her attention. Hermione felt like her breath had gotten stuck in her throat.

He was wearing her necklace. The one she had given him.

Her heart rate sped up suddenly with that knowledge, but his fingers found the bare strip of skin at the hem of her shirt, and she pulled her stomach in with a small gasp, and the thought slipped away.

His hand was warm and large and fit itself into her curves as he smoothed a long streak across her belly, back and forth, back and forth, deliberate and intent, inching under the fabric and making her heartbeat go haywire.

Under her shirt, Draco was circling her navel, round and round and in.

Hermione lost the fight to control her breathing as Draco pulled her tank top up, past her ribs and over her breasts. With the fabric bunched under her arms, and her tight nipples straining up into the cool air, she swallowed hard and focused on Draco's serious face.

*****

Desire bloomed in the pit of Draco's stomach and the air in his lungs felt shallow and insufficient. For three breaths, in and out, he just looked. She was magnificent. With her arms pulled up, and her exposed breasts reaching toward him, and her slim legs rubbing together shyly, she was more than herself, more than a girl in his bed. She was a strange, beautiful creature that he wanted to know inside and out.

That he wanted to call his own.

With one finger, he drew a straight line down between her breasts, and traced a path along the edge of her ribs, distended from her arms being stretched over her head. To fully feel the skin of her stomach, he flattened his palm against her, making slow, wide sweeps of the soft surface, around to the sides of her, slowly, back up, flat-palmed in a straight line between her breasts, to her throat. Slowly, over the upper swells of her breasts, around the sides, and over the still-warm, soft undersides.

Every inch of skin that passed under his fingers squeezed his heart a little tighter, ached, and urged him forward.

******

It was maddeningly slow, this careful navigation of her skin. It felt as though he was sculpting her, shaping her sides and belly and the curve of her hip, and charging them with life with each pass of warmth he spread over her.

His hand was hot and silky, blazing down the outside of her thigh, catching under her knee, pulling it up and leaving her leg bent, and then up the back of her thigh making her want to arch her back and boil over.

Hermione pressed her wrists into the pillow and gave in to her body's reaction, undulating beneath Draco's touch. Yes. _God, yes._ This is what her body wanted. To give her self over to _this._ To him.

Two large hands circled her waist and moved down together, dragging her knickers over her hips and down her thighs and making Hermione's heart thump wildly in her chest. Slowly down her legs, slowly over her knees, and then gone. He was kneeling at her feet, a mass of pale light and shadows, as his fingers circled her ankles, and her heels, and traced each of her small toes.

And then his palms were gliding up the insides of her calves, her knees, pushing them apart and suddenly the sound of her breathing, ragged and harsh, seemed too loud in the quiet room. Slowly, his hands moved around the shape of her thighs, open and ready. The perfect hollow for his body.

And when Draco moved over her, finally resting his body in the cradle he had carved, she exhaled, a long, deep sigh, and let her arms come down around his shoulders.

The weight of him, pressing her into the bed, the all-over warmth of skin on skin, and his grey eyes, soft and full, focused on hers, filled Hermione with a satisfaction that was both profound and terrifying.

Her hands roamed across the smooth skin and muscles of Draco's back, up to his neck, where a thin line of metal interrupted her path. With both hands she traced the line around his neck and her eyes dropped to the tiny silver snitch swinging gently from its chain. She held the little ball in her fingers, the symbol of her belief in him.

An ache clenched hard around her heart. She had stood him up. Abandoned him. But, still, he wore it.

Hermione blinked and looked up at him watching her discovery. She expected to see an accusation in his eyes, or maybe hurt, but what she saw instead was warm, and gentle, and made her think that Draco understood her in a way that she barely understood herself. If she looked too long she would cry.

But then he was grasping her hands in his and pulling them away from the fluttering ball, pressing them to the bed on either side of her head, and threading their fingers together once more. And then his lips were dragging over her lips and he was kissing her, slowly, so slowly, and his tongue was breaking into her mouth, filling it and swirling and blurring her feelings and thoughts.

Soft and thick in her mouth. Slow, languid kisses that stretched out like taffy. As thoroughly and slowly as he had caressed her entire body, he was claiming her mouth, and their bodies, flush and hot, rolled into each other, rising and falling together in rhythm with their tongues.

The head of Draco's cock was hard and insistent at Hermione's entrance and with one smooth undulation of his hips Draco was sinking, finally, into her tight, wet, engulfing heat. He groaned into her mouth as he was fully sheathed in her, and then he just stayed there, unmoving, while he continued to kiss her.

******

Time could stop now.

Just like this.

Sheltered forever inside her, pouring himself into her mouth, and her small fingers laced with his, tightening their grip, then loose, then tight again.

This was perfect.

She was rolling her hips under him, driving his own instinct to move, but he wanted to go slow. If this was his only chance to have her again, he wanted it to last forever.

Draco pulled away from her mouth to look down into wide, dark eyes as he pulled out, painstakingly slowly, from the heat of Hermione's pussy. And clenching her fingers in his, he slid back into her.

This is how he made love to Hermione Granger in the grey winter light. Unhurried. Thoroughly. Deeply. Claiming her, claiming this moment in time.

He fought his body's urge to speed up and kept his pace measured and even.

In.

Out.

Slow.

Slow.

Slow.

He resisted the insistence in her thighs and in the tight gripping and loosening of her fingers, gritting his teeth as her body went rigid and her walls pulsed around him. And then, when he reached the edge, he held on longer.

Slow.

Even as his own orgasm went screaming through him.

Squeezing her hands in his, Draco dropped his hot, flushed face into the cloud of curls at her neck. It was soft, and silent and tender, and the words suggested themselves in Draco's head:

_I love you. I love you. I love you. Why didn't you come?_

This time, when the words came, when the feeling rushed through him and the confession was perched on his tongue, he wasn't taken by surprise. It was familiar. And secret. And too fragile to say aloud. So he kissed her again.

And then he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, circling her tightly in the cage of his arms, because he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

******

Hours later Hermione was still tucked neatly under Draco's chin, caught under the heavy weight of his arms and legs, and breathing in the warm smell of his skin. Her mind tugged at some distant memory, of pine needles breaking under her feet, of jumping into a lake, warmth on her face, from the sun, or maybe the air.

The curls at the top of her head rustled with his deep breathing, and Hermione let herself just lie there and enjoy the feeling of being so engulfed in him, so wrapped up in Draco Malfoy's arms. In whatever vague imaginings she had ever had of love, this is what it looked like.

She tilted her head back to look at his face, soft again, and somehow younger. Her eyes drifted down to the tiny snitch again and her heart squeezed almost painfully. Of course she wanted him to wear it, she had given it to him, after all, but seeing the silver chain around his neck, knowing that he _had_ been wearing it, even after she had stood him up… it made her head swim with scary ideas – about him, him and her, about _them._

A knot coiled in the pit of Hermione's stomach. What happened now? There was a good reason she had been fighting this. It would be so easy to give too much of herself to him. To lose herself. And she wasn't going to assume she was _special._ She wasn't going to beg for things he couldn't, or wouldn't, give.

But she _wanted_ to be here. That was the bottom line. Her body demanded it. And her hand confirmed this demand as she started moving it over the wide planes of his back, over the bones at his hip, and down to the dip at the top of his ass.

A small thrill went through her at her freedom to touch him like this, while he was asleep, while it was safe.

Her small hand rounded over the curve of Draco's ass and then down, to the place where his butt and thigh met. Her fingers made light strokes along the crease, toward the inside of his thigh and out again. It was a secret place. Rarely touched, rarely considered and it made Hermione's heart beat a little faster to be just barely touching him in this hidden place.

Draco's leg twitched and Hermione's hand stilled and she looked up at his face, but he didn't wake up. A couple moments later, she began the tentative stroking again. Back and forth, ghosting over the tender skin, feeling her fingertips tingle with the light touch.

"If you keep that up, Granger, there will be retribution."

Hermione froze and looked up. His eyes were still closed.

A streak of mischievousness bolted through her and, biting her lip, she lightly scrambled her fingertips over the area once again.

In a single heartbeat, one eyebrow arched, one grey eye peered out through a sleepy crack, and the corner of his mouth curved into a wicked smirk.

Before she could blink, Hermione was flipped onto her back, wrists pinned with one strong hand above her head, and Draco over her, holding her in the powerful grip of his thighs and his fingers digging into her ribs. She was instantly howling with laughter and gasping and screaming for him to stop and bucking under him, trying to escape his relentless attack. There was nothing for it. Draco had her in an iron grip and even her bucking and writhing didn't have much effect.

For a split second, she wondered if this is what his broom felt like when he was speeding after the snitch. But then his fingers fluttered again and the thought flew out of her mind. What she was aware of, however, was that they were both naked, her breasts were embarrassingly bouncing all over the place, and she couldn't remember seeing Draco smile quite so widely before.

He stopped suddenly and grinned down at her. It was wonderful. Pure happiness. And her face automatically reflected it back.

"Do you surrender, Granger?"

She was torn. She couldn't take the tickling, but she didn't want this to end. She wanted to stay in this little bubble, where Draco was smiling, _at her,_ and it was true and easy and _good,_ and the air felt _alive_ with excitement. If only she could just delay a little…. Draco's stomach growled loudly and Hermione snickered.

"Surrender Granger, or it's you I'll be eating," he threatened with a lascivious gleam in his eyes.

Hermione blushed hard and dropped her gaze. She turned her chin into her arm and squeaked out, "I surrender."

Draco's mouth quirked and he considered her for a second. Still holding her arms, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Awww, kitten. You would have enjoyed being eaten. I promise." He kissed the tip of her nose affectionately before bounding off the bed.

As soon as Draco was off her, Hermione sat up and pulled the rumpled white sheet up under her arms.

She stared wide-eyed as Draco walked around his sunny room completely naked. Her mind seemed to be stuck on the way the muscles in his ass rolled and flexed when he walked and the way his hard cock bobbed out in front of him and he seemed not to notice.

She pulled the sheet a little higher, feeling even more self-conscious in light of his total lack of it.

And the fact that their tussle had clearly affected him, and he _wasn't_ desperate to take care of it, he was just slipping on his trousers like it wasn't there…well, she would have to seriously reevaluate some of her ideas about the male body.

****

It's rare, but sometimes, a seventeen year old's stomach overrules his libido. Draco really was starving. Though, he supposed he would have survived if Hermione hadn't surrendered. He smiled to himself. Her flip-flopping between Gryffindor bravery and bashfulness was really very endearing. Never in their daily school lives had he seen Hermione Granger bashful about anything. It was kind of nice to have one up on her in this way. Draco may have only had sex with six girls…or seven, but with a couple of them, he'd had a _lot_ of it.

He glanced at her still sitting on the bed with the sheet pulled high and her cheeks a lovely shade of pink. Her shyness about her body was obviously getting the best of her. He could tease her, it would be so easy, but there was something light and free happening inside him and in the room around him and it wasn't worth the risk right now. He thought he could give her a little break, and turned his back while he buttoned his shirt as slowly as was reasonable.

Draco's instincts about people didn't fail him. She _was_ a Gryffindor, after all, and really, they weren't hard to read. As soon as he turned, he heard the bed creak and the quick sounds of fabric rustling.

And _he_ was a Slytherin, after all, and he smirked as he watched her with a sideways glance in the large mirror near the foot of the bed that she had apparently forgotten about.


	30. Three Little Words

There was something here. Something tentative and delicate that fluttered in Draco's throat. Something so unsure of itself that if he breathed too hard it might flicker out of existence. But maybe, if he could just be careful, if he could just be gentle enough…

But it was impossible. It had always been impossible. Draco knew this. He'd known it all along.

And yet, Hermione Granger had walked with him from the dungeons to the Great Hall. _Next_ to him. From _his_ room.

He couldn't stop grinning.

Even at the Head Table, in front of all the students, McGonagall and Snape, and the all-knowing eyes of Dumbledore, Draco fought hard to keep the smile off his face. He was in a constant state of expectation. Like any second now, he was going to see the snitch right in front of him, flashing white in the sun.

Any second now he was going to win.

* * *

Any second now, Hermione was going to lose it.

She ground her teeth hard to keep from laughing and shot Draco a warning look. His lips twitched and his fingers skittered at the back of her knee again. She narrowed her eyes at him.

With one long arm casually hanging at his side, Draco had pulled her robe up to her bare thigh under the table and was _lightly_ stroking the soft, spongy area in the fold of her knee. It was wreaking havoc on her nerves.

If her face wasn't bright red from the simple fact that she was sitting in the Great Hall with nothing but her knickers on under her robe, then her posture – spine-straight and rigid from Draco's teasing – was surely going to give her away. And still, despite the fact that she'd seen him naked – and had _sex_ with him (twice!) – she still felt very flustered in his presence.

She wiggled her knee away from his fingers and watched him clearly struggling to hide his amusement. It was hard not smile in response. There was a lightness in Draco's face that Hermione had never seen before. A quickness or a glittering in his eyes, or a maybe a brightness to his skin. It was mischievous and delightful, and a little overwhelming, and it made her heart feel larger in her chest.

His fingers skipped across the delicate bend of her knee again and started to move a little higher under her thigh. Lightness or no, Hermione clenched her jaw tightly against the sensations and decided that two could play this game. Quickly, and with a strength that surprised him, Hermione bent her leg back and squeezed, effectively trapping Draco's hand.

A smug smile threatened to break over her face at Draco's startled expression as he tugged, trying to remove his hand.

And a moment later, as if he was in on her little scheme, Dumbledore turned to Draco.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, have you had any luck locating our misbehaving ghost?" Hermione thought she might burst in triumph.

Draco froze with his hand still trapped under the table and his cheeks reddening quickly. "No… No, Sir. I…" he stammered while he searched for an excuse. "I haven't seen him yet." Technically, it was the truth. He glared at his toast with a disgruntled frown.

Hermione released his hand and he brought it up to the table where it safely circled his goblet.

"Witch!" he grumbled just loud enough for only her to hear.

She grinned openly and speared a chunk of potato.

She was going to be a little sad when they went back to sitting across the hall from each other like strangers.

* * *

"I assume you know about Draco's request to join The Order," the headmaster sat at his desk and waited for Hermione's response.

After breakfast he had stopped her in a corridor on the fifth floor. The same corridor, in fact, where she had performed embarrassing and lewd acts under Draco's command just a few days earlier. Hermione had shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, desperately trying push away the memory of her skirt flipped up and Draco's hand pressed hard over her mouth while she…

She wanted to be anywhere but there, and she sighed in relief when they left the corridor to make their way to his office.

Now he was peering at her calmly over his spectacles.

Hermione straightened her back and nodded, "Yes, Sir."

"And you may also know that he has agreed to submit to questioning under Veritaserum."

She nodded again.

"And that we'll be going to Headquarters."

Hermione stared for a second. "Headquarters?"

"Yes. Harry is there now, along with the Weasleys, and a few other Order members."

Immediately her mind tried to picture Draco – _Draco Malfoy_ – at Grimmauld Place surrounded by Weasleys. Ron's face came to the forefront of her mind, pinched and red with anger the way it had been at the Yule Ball. She frowned.

Seemingly following her train of thought, the Headmaster continued. "I was wondering if you were free to join us."

In the back of her mind, Hermione smiled. It wasn't really a question. Ever since Harry had taken charge of his destiny and demanded to be privy to everything concerning him, the war, and Voldemort, Dumbledore was more forthcoming with his intentions. And that included with her.

But to face her friends, outside of school, knowing what she knew, what she had done… _with Draco…_ She shoved her hands under her thighs.

"Sir, Harry mentioned that Ron was rather upset about it. Isn't there, I mean, are you sure going to Grimmauld Place is a good idea?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Weasley is going to need some guidance to see things…" he paused and leveled his gaze directly at her, "for what they are."

Scratch that. Dumbledore was just as cryptic as ever.

"And you think that I can help with that."

"Sometimes, we need our friends to show us the way. It seems that you and Mr. Malfoy have overcome your obstacles and developed a comfortable relationship."

Hermione's stomach swooped.

Relationship.

_Relationship. _

The word floated around in her brain, distracting her like a lazy bee slowly buzzing about the room. She shifted in her chair nervously. She hoped Professor Dumbledore wasn't aware of the nature of their _"relationship"._ And with the constant state of anticipation she had been in, she would hardly call it "comfortable". Before she could make any reply, though, Dumbledore interrupted.

"I think Draco could use an ally tomorrow."

"Of course, Sir."

* * *

At a small wooden table surrounded by obscure potions books, Hermione propped up her elbow and let her chin fall into her palm. She sighed.

Warm, late afternoon light streamed through the tall library windows and caught in the dusty library air. Hermione stared into it, glassy-eyed and unfocused.

She slept with Draco.

A beam of speckled light cut across her desk and Hermione turned her palm up in it as if she could catch the suspended particles in her hand. She stared at the little white particles swirling slowly over her hand and never settling.

Her eyes drifted down to the open book in front of her and she squinted at an ancient drawing of a rare brown algae found in the shallows of the Black Sea. It was possible that in the right combination and quantity, the addition of this plant to her potion would have both calming and persuasive effects.

She glanced at the small map on the opposite page of a seaport in Odessa in the Southern pocket of the Ukraine. It wasn't terribly far from the dragon compound where Charlie Weasley worked. She flicked her wand at the map and then at her parchment, where a duplicate appeared. She wrote "Charlie" underneath the map, and set her quill down again to look back into the rays of dusty light.

For almost a full day she had been trying to make progress on her experimental potion, only to find herself staring off into space once again. A soft, steady hum had moved into Hermione's thoughts, creating a kind of quietness in her mind. All her lists and notes and things to remember were suddenly, inexplicably, hushed into silence.

She slept with Draco Malfoy. _Slept _ with him.

It was an odd sort of knowledge – to know what that was like. To know the regular soft sound of his breathing, and that his skin was hot, and that his perfect hair was messy when he woke up. She felt like she had been told a closely guarded secret. Draco had shared something personal and private with her. She wondered, then, if that meant that Draco trusted her? Or, maybe, to Draco, it wasn't a private thing at all. Maybe he had _slept_ with all six of the girls he had _slept_ with. Er, seven.

Hermione frowned.

The chiming of the dinner bell pulled her out of her thoughts and a ball of erratic energy bloomed in the pit of her stomach and spread outward.

She was going to see him again.

* * *

The library might not have given Hermione much respite from the onslaught of Draco, but meal times were worse. Torturous affairs where she felt like she was being hit from every angle. Anticipation and anxiety, excitement, fear, desire and longing. She was under siege.

Sitting next to Draco now, while he answered a brave first year's Quidditch questions and pressed the length of his strong, warm thigh into hers, made Hermione feel upside down and backwards. She wanted to eat slowly and prolong the time next to him, and wanted to escape before she spilled her tea on herself. Or worse, on him.

A minute after the first person finished eating, she stood and left as calmly as she could manage. Outside the large oak doors, Hermione took a steadying breath. Three steps towards her room, she stopped and turned around.

_Should she wait for him? _

_Or would he think she was easy? _

She bit her lip and turned back towards Gryffindor Tower.

_If she left, would he think she was scared?_ Alright, she was a bit scared. But she wouldn't have Draco thinking so.

She turned around again. A sharp line creased her forehead and she looked down at the stone floor.

_But if she went to him two nights in a row would he expect her to show up every night? _

She frowned. She didn't know exactly what it was that they were doing, and _God_ she wanted to do it again, but there was no way she was going to let it take over her life. And then a terrifying thought:

_What if someone else came out first? _

Turning swiftly, Hermione walked straight to her room before she could change her mind. She completely forgot to check the Great Hall that night for any sign of Peeves.

* * *

Draco hovered high in the air over the far end of the Black Lake, sitting motionless on his broom as his cloak swirled gently around his legs. It was the last night of the year. In the distance little spots of orange light flickered to life. The castle looked like it was trying to lose itself in the grey-blue monochrome landscape. He let his eyes drift down to a line of deep purple haze hugging the snowy ground.

He felt disconnected. Small. Like a gust of wind could swoosh in and pick him off the face of the earth, and no one would know. Or care. His absence would hardly be felt.

He had no parents to feel the loss, no true friends to break bonds with, and an empty manor that was probably relieved with his absence. Even the Order probably felt he was no more important than an annoying pebble in their shoe, despite Potter and Dumbledore's suggestions to the contrary.

And then there was Hermione Granger. And he was in love with her, and he couldn't tell her because if she told him she didn't feel the same, he might tumble out into the atmosphere.

A gust of wind tried to push him out of its way and Draco braced himself against it. With his teeth chattering and his bones frozen, he lifted his eyes to the disappearing horizon.

For the last three hours he had cut scars across the grey sky, flat on his broom, racing his thoughts at blinding speeds. His body screamed through the air, battling gravity and wind and air pressure and cold and the infinite number of things that could go wrong tomorrow.

But it was no good. It was a fight he couldn't win.

There were a hundred ways they could humiliate him, a hundred secrets he didn't want to share, one of which had been frustratingly absent the last two days.

As the Order meeting drew closer, he was even more anxious to be near her. To extract every second he had left with her while he still had time. Just for a little while longer to be wrapped up in her heat, her need, and her tenderness. Because even if she didn't love him, she was at least kind.

And the longer he went without touching her, the more the bubble of happiness that had filled him waned, only to swell again each time she climbed onto the bench next to him in the Great Hall with her cheeks pink and a small, nervous smile just for him.

But then she would be gone again, and his whole body ached with unanswered hunger.

He shifted his weight on his broom to ease the stiffness in his joints and tried again to call up that feeling of hope, to recreate the swelling in his chest, but it eluded him.

An image floated into his mind. Hermione Granger, her head thrown back with laughter as her body curled under his tickling fingers. He smiled to himself and wondered with a dark sort of humor, how he had gone from not being able to stand the Gryffindor goody-goody to depending on her presence for his very happiness.

And then he thought again of the Order and what they might ask him about her, about his past behavior toward her, and, more frightening, about his current feelings about her, and his smile faded.

They had a complicated history. His history with the whole trio was complicated. Granger, Potter, the Weasel. Complicated and marked with his own ugliness and inadequacy.

Letting his eyes travel slowly from one end of the choppy lake to the other, Draco cataloged seven years of hate.

His stung pride when Potter rejected his friendship. Every underhanded scheme to get the three of them in trouble. Every cold, disappointed glare from his father when he failed to tarnish their shining reputation. And every time afterward that he vowed again to bring them down. And every ill-bred, jealous, bitter "mudblood."

And even though things were different now, everything he imagined the Order asking, all his answers, were twisted into something awful. Something damning.

As he slashed through the sky, he could see them in his mind, towering over him, eager to prove that he was no better than his name, eager to nod sanctimoniously at each other and say, "you see, we knew he was a bad seed." By the time he had exhausted himself, he was almost sure they were right.

For a long time, Draco just hung in the air, watching the weak white sunlight give up, and the grey sky slip into a darker grey.

When the castle was just a shadow, and his bones ached from the cold, he slowly began to make his way back.

* * *

By the time Draco got there, the balcony of the Astronomy Tower was alive with excitement. Dumbledore's New Year's Eve fireworks displays were legendary and the copious amounts of butterbeer and champagne for everyone of age certainly added to the celebratory mood. After spending every holiday at Hogwarts, Draco had seen it before.

He stood at the back of the small gathering of students and staff, grateful that they were all turned out to the snowy, color-washed grounds with their faces angled up in awe. A warming charm made the temperature comfortable and the air smelled slightly of sulfur or maybe electricity.

Left to right, he scanned the crowd. Snape had come. And McGonagall. And the first and second years had pressed themselves eagerly against the stone railing. A crease briefly formed between his brows and he scanned again from the beginning. And again.

She wasn't there.

An immense hollow feeling engulfed him, a black hole opening in his chest, and Draco blinked up at the sky.

Surely the Gryffindor Princess wouldn't shun Dumbledore's little party. She must have left early. Or maybe she hadn't come at all. Either way, she was undeniably absent. He clenched his jaw and tried to not let disappointment swallow him.

An irrational urge to search again gripped him, but instead Draco pushed her out of his mind and fixed his gaze to the sky. Shimmering gold light pulsed above the Black Lake in a dense sphere, sending hundreds of rays arcing into the night sky. Raining down to be reflected in the glittering surface of the lake.

Small pops and swirling sounds filled the air while a shower of colored light twisted in the sky like lovers in a sensual dance. For over an hour Draco kept his eyes on the beautiful display feeling like the world was mocking him.

There was no going back. His betrayal to his lineage was irrefutable now. A solid thing. Set in stone. Somehow, he was going to see to it that the Malfoy name's association with darkness would end with him.

Unfortunately, if the Order didn't want him, he wasn't really sure what he was going to do. Contrary to his Slytherin tendency for scheming, this time Draco didn't have a back up plan. He had never really believed that he could be anything other than his father's son.

_His father's son._ The last living Malfoy. A once great and noble family. He was king of a mountain that needed to be razed to the ground.

Draco let out a long sigh. He felt tired and worn down and he wondered how much longer he needed to stay. Another ten minutes perhaps. He stared at a large yellow ball of light high in the air, and let his eyes go fuzzy and unfocused as it changed colors and expanded slowly above him.

Gold.

Orange.

Red.

Magenta.

Purple…

She was there.

She was _there._

He could _feel_ her. A soft column of energy sparkling just behind him. Just to the left. And he could smell her. That strange, subtle mix of amber and honey and oranges and jasmine folding slowly around him. Circling and filling him up. Squeezing his heart so that it contracted tightly like one of Dumbledore's fireworks right before it exploded.

He couldn't move. Wouldn't move. Just in case it wasn't real. Draco stood there, perfectly still, taking slow, measured breaths, while the back of his body tingled with his awareness of her and the crescendo sounds of the fireworks hit his ears like explosions in a distant battle.

Time seemed to slow down, and just when Draco was convinced he had made it up, she stepped up next to him.

Yes. There she was. A dark, orchid-purple ribbon lost in the honey curls and a black dress with her knees showing, and a little bow at each bare shoulder.

She had come to him. Again.

And there was the shy smile, hampered this time by her lower lip being pulled between her teeth. And her bright, and brief, self-conscious glance. Draco groaned internally. God, her nervousness was like a lust potion.

She focused on the color-lit sky and Draco watched her shift her weight under his gaze and try to pretend that she wasn't affected. She fidgeted with a seam on her dress for a moment and then she seemed to make up her mind about something and she decidedly dropped it and lifted her chin.

He would have smirked, but instead his memory was suddenly skipping back in time, to the defiant tilt of her chin that first night in his room, and to a late night in the HCR just after Blaise's attack, just after he'd found that note proclaiming them friends, just after she'd asked him to be her first. And then further, to that Halloween night after the masque, and her confession about what she wanted. And then he was remembering that bright corridor and her head tilted back in submission.

Draco's stomach clenched with arousal.

Hermione Granger hadn't just wanted to give him her virginity. She wanted to give him control. And no one. NO ONE. Had ever wanted to give him _that_ before. That it would be _her_ to trust him so implicitly took his breath away and left him blinking again at the night sky.

With a sideways glance, Draco looked down at her again. Hermione's attention was fixed firmly on the sky like a lesson she had to commit to memory. Like tomorrow morning Dumbledore would be testing her on the subject of fireworks. She looked like everything the Head Girl should be. Proper. Tidy. Unerringly _good._ Everything in place with the exception of her wild hair. But Draco noticed a small muscle pulsing at her jaw – a barely visible sign that maybe she'd like to be free of her responsibilities for a little while.

Draco turned his gaze back to the red and pink sparkling lights and pushed away the strange, protective instinct that was coursing through him.

As the dazzling display continued overhead, they stayed like that. Two Head Students, standing at the back of the gathering, just a little too close, with their faces lit up under the flowering lights.

The excited hum of the gathering grew louder as the final minutes of the year approached and a hundred or more little globes of light spun in the sky, pulling their rays in, making them wrap around like thousands of squiggly Saturn's rings, tangled around each other and struggling to not fly off into space.

The sky was almost too bright to look at. Feeding themselves on their own light, the spinning spheres grew and grew. Gathering in towards each other over the Black Lake and setting it on fire.

Electricity sparked hotly through the air until the tension was a palpable thing, rising, rising, building and growing.

At his side, Draco could feel tiny pricks of energy popping between her bare arm and his and he wondered if she felt it too. He focused on the huge, blistering cloud of color, pulling inward and throbbing like it was about to erupt.

And then. Softly. Quietly. Her small hand tipped into his.

_Oh._

Draco's eyes slid closed.

Suddenly, every ray of light, every ounce of energy, was being pulled into him, coalescing in the center of his chest, tightening just behind his ribs, and gathering in his body in a single point of blinding light.

And then she squeezed his hand gently and the point of light burst open.

Light bloomed behind his eyelids. Exploded over his upturned face, washing it in warmth and color. And Draco felt like he was exploding with it. Unfolding and expanding, it spilled out of his chest and down his legs through his feet, into the ground.

In an instant, Draco was connected to everything. To Hermione, to the stone balcony of the Astronomy Tower, to Dumbledore and Snape and McGonagall and the bright faces of the students. Like bright shining cords had burst from his ribs in every direction, tying themselves to everything in their path, and spreading out further to attach to the next thing. He was attached to everything.

Intrinsically linked. Written into its history. Just as it was written into his.

As if from far away, he heard her gasp, and finally, Draco opened his eyes to the shower of golden light raining down.

_Ten. _

The sky became a sheet of turquoise sparks.

_Nine._

He wanted to kiss her.

_Eight. _

Now.

_Seven. _

The Black Lake glowed gold and orange like it was on fire.

_Six. _

He had to get her out of here.

_Five. _

The urgency throbbed in his chest.

_Four. _

The sky lit up magenta. Purple. Then magenta again.

_Three. _

_Two. _

Fuck.

_One._

Millions of little meteors filled every inch of the night sky, falling down in an slow, quiet shower over them. It was breathtaking. Draco turned to see Hermione's small mouth open in awe and the soft white light shifting over her cheeks and nose.

Feeling his gaze on her, Hermione looked up at him, her eyes still wide and innocent. A moment later, Draco was dragging her behind him, through the Astronomy classroom, out the door and hurrying down the long winding staircase.

On the third floor, next to the door of the Trophy Room, Draco couldn't wait another second and hauled Hermione to him. Pushed her into the wall with his body and dove to her mouth. His long fingers lost with the orchid ribbon in her hair, holding her head in place as his tongue searched and searched her mouth for satisfaction.

Draco pushed his thigh between her legs and the heat from her there spread over him. She ground herself against him.

Oh god. This wasn't enough. This was never going to be enough.

And then they were flying down the hallway again, down steps, and another hallway and more steps, and past the Great Hall. Draco could feel his arm stretched out behind him, and her hand clutching his like a towline.

* * *

Hermione stumbled into the darkness of Draco's room and gasped when the fireplace lit up and he was on her again. Pushing her into the wall where the cool stone shocked the backs of her bare arms.

That nameless taste – that taste that was Draco – was in her mouth again, tightening the coil of desperation and need. Her hands scrambled over his torso, gripping at his shoulders and tugging his shirt from his belt.

Draco growled into her mouth. He was pushing so hard into her. There was an intense knot somewhere deep in her gut and at her core, and she writhed in the small space he allowed her to relieve the ache.

The little black dress bunched up around her legs and the soft flannel of Draco's trousers rubbed her inner thighs as she ground her pussy hard against his leg. The friction – the barrier – was maddening. She bit his lip in frustration.

* * *

He was going to fuck her right now.

Up against the wall.

Right here. Right now.

He was going take her, lose control in her, and just slam his cock into her hard and fast until they were both bruised and spent and falling onto the floor.

Hermione's hands drew a fast, disjointed map over his body. Chest, back, arms, in his hair, over his ass, while her hips rolled frantically into his. And then her hands found their way under his shirt and swarmed over his stomach and his sides, marking a hot, unruly trail over his skin.

He was losing.

Losing to Hermione Granger again. Losing to her curls and her whimpers and her small frantic hands. And he had already lost so much to her.

This time he wanted to win.

Draco's fingers found their way out of her hair and moved down to grip her upper arms. He meant to push away from her, but her mouth still held him there, his tongue wrapping around hers again and again. He couldn't escape her mouth.

His grip tightened and a deep growl forced its way through his body as he wrenched himself off her and away from the wall, bringing her with him and spinning her out into the room so that the backs of her thighs collided with the bed.

The cool air swirled around them with the movement. And even when they stood staring at each other, motionless, like two immovable mountains, Draco could still feel it swimming over his face and heated neck.

She was breathing hard. In his peripheral vision he could see her chest heaving in the firelight. But it was her eyes that held him. Hard and dark, and focused sharply on him. Draco's magic thrummed in his veins like a barely controlled energy.

Time stretched out between them while they stood there at the foot of the bed. Two opponents locked in a fierce battle. Each waiting for the other to strike.

And then the fire popped too loud and Draco reached out with one hand and grasped the strip of fabric at Hermione's shoulder. He watched her eyes narrow slightly. She was daring him, and he felt the answering fire in his chest. Draco yanked the fabric down – hard and rough – and bared one beautiful round breast and dark, rosy nipple.

Hermione's breath hitched but she made no move to cover herself. Knowing that she would follow his next move closely, Draco held her gaze for a moment and then let his path slide down to her exposed breast and the tightly furled nipple, hardening further in the cool air.

"Take it off."

Her eyes were wide.

"Now, Granger."

She dropped her gaze and swallowed and slowly slipped the other strap off her shoulder. The dress dropped to the floor with a hush.

"Everything."

Hermione tucked her thumbs into the little black knickers and tugged them down her lean legs and stepped out of them. Black. Knickers. Draco was momentarily sad to see them go. But his cock throbbed at the sight of the dark triangle of curls hiding what he was once again about to claim as his, and he quickly forgot about the knickers.

She shivered a little. A light sheen of sweat had broken out at her hairline. Draco looked at the satin orchid ribbon, slightly askew in her messy hair, and decided that he would take this final thing from her himself.

* * *

Hermione tried to fight the instinct to step back as Draco took a step towards her. There was a commanding tone in Draco's voice and a feral look in his sparkling grey eyes. It was both terrifying and exciting, and it only fanned the desperate achy need that was still building in her pussy.

Hermione felt her own nakedness intensely. Especially in contrast to Draco, whose shirt was merely untucked and rumpled. She could feel her nipples contracting so tightly they ached, and the wetness that had already seeped out of her was cool in spots on her thighs, and hot and slick between her pussy lips. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

The feeling of nakedness increased when Draco's palm slid along the side of her neck and pushed her hair over her shoulder, fully exposing her front. She had both the instinct to curl in on herself, and also to bare her neck further. She didn't move.

But then he leaned in and sucked at the skin below her ear. An involuntary moan escaped her and her head tilted backwards. Where everything was fast and furious before, every touch and movement now felt deliberate and concentrated.

Draco's other hand came up to her chest and lightly, much too lightly, his fingers ghosted over her pebbled nipple. Hermione arched her back to push into his hand and he chuckled darkly against her neck.

His hand trailed down her belly to her curls where her legs were pressed tightly together. He tapped her mound.

"Open up," he ordered.

Hermione willed her legs to move. It didn't make sense because she was desperate for him to touch her there, but she just couldn't do it. He slapped at her lightly and repeated the order more firmly. When she still didn't move, his hand came down harder. She groaned at the pressure and finally, _finally_ her legs opened a little.

Hermione closed her eyes and clenched her fists, ashamed of how close she was to begging him to put his fingers in her pussy. She almost whined when he only ran a long finger lightly over her wet lips and then brought it up to his mouth. She watched him suck on his own finger and tried not to fidget in his grasp. _God. That was so unfair!_

And then a new sensation caught her attention. Satin being pulled through her hair and over her shoulder.

She sucked in a deep breath. And then held it when Draco's hand suddenly fisted the curls at the base of her neck and tugged backwards. His breath was hot and menacing in her ear.

"I'm going to open you up. And _fuck_ you. Hard."

Hermione's stomach swooped violently and Draco pushed her back roughly so that the bed caught her behind the knees and she was thrown onto her back.

She stared hard at Draco, standing over her like he was planning her destruction. A red, hot blush broke out over her face and neck.

Draco brought his fingers to the buttons at his collar. He was still holding the orchid ribbon in one hand as he made his way down the row of buttons. It was distracting. And confusing. And Hermione tried to ignore them as Draco's pale creamy skin was exposed and washed in the warmth of the firelight.

But, with each button that was undone, with each new section of smooth skin, realization began to dawn on Hermione and her eyes grew wide. When the shirt finally hit the floor and Draco stood over her in only his black trousers, still clutching the damned ribbon, Hermione's heart began to pound furiously in her chest.

Draco pulled the ribbon slowly through his hands and smirked at her. If there was any doubt as to his intentions, it vanished when he pulled his wand out of his pocket and waved it at the ribbon creating four much longer ones.

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God._

Hermione balled her fists at her sides and squeezed. She could feel the soft fabric of Draco's trousers brushing against her knees, still laying over the edge of the bed. Draco seemed to be waiting for something. His eyes were narrowed as if he were studying her or he was far away with his thoughts. Hermione wanted to scream at him. To hurry up or stop or just…anything! But then his hands were warm on her closed thighs, moving down to cup under her knees. As her knees came up, his warm hands continued down her calves to her ankles. With one ankle enclosed in each of his large palms, Draco placed her feet flat against his chest.

It was oddly intimate. And somehow calming. Just a little.

But then Draco pulled out the end of one of the ribbons and began to tie it to her left ankle and calm was not at all how she felt.

Hermione took slow deep breaths so she wouldn't panic or squirm or simply pass out from the adrenaline coursing through her. The satin was cool and whisper-soft sliding over her legs and ankles.

Around and around and around he wrapped it, so slow and so careful. And watching her face the whole time. Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away from the intensity in his eyes as the smooth, shiny orchid ribbon became thick around her ankle and up the lower part of her calf. God, he was torturing her!

He tied off the ribbon on her left ankle and let the long remainder trail down to the floor. She wiggled her foot a little against his chest. It was hardly snug at all. It felt rather like a nice hug. Draco waited a moment and then began to tie her right foot.

Hermione closed her eyes for a second. The ache at her core was overwhelming. Her muscles contracted around the emptiness there and she couldn't stop her hips from rolling. A sharp tug on her ankle from Draco seemed like a warning to lay still. The threatening look on his face made Hermione tighten her stomach muscles to stem her desire.

_Why the fuck was he going so slow?????_

But she knew why. Hermione locked her gaze on his again. His eyes were dark with dilated pupils, and his hands sure as they wound the slippery ribbon around her ankle. But there was a tiny hint of concern there. She could see it. A small line between his brows. He was giving her time to change her mind. He was giving her an out.

Draco tied the knot at her right ankle and Hermione's heart made another hard thud against her ribs. He gripped her hips and pulled her down a little so that her ass was at the very edge of the bed. He pulled his wand out of his pocket again and cast a silent spell at the hanging ribbon.

The loose ends of her purple ribbons made serpentine patterns in the air until Draco touched the tip of his wand high up on one carved bedpost, and then the other.

Hermione's mouth went dry. She had been trying to imagine herself with her legs spread eagle on Draco's bed. The image was largely responsible for the blotchy red patches on her cheeks and upper chest. But this… This was somehow worse.

* * *

Draco smirked. He had been a little worried that he was going too far for the virginal Head Girl. Alright, she wasn't a virgin – anymore – but she was hardly experienced. But her gyrating hips had given her away. And she was Hermione Granger. If she didn't like it, she would let him know. Probably painfully.

As Draco watched the ribbons wrap themselves around the large grooves in the bedposts, he pulled her ankles off his chest and held them straight and open while the slack was taken up. Inside he was grinning triumphantly.

Outside, his cock was hard as iron at the sight of her pussy, pink and glistening, and opening more and more as her legs stretched up and wide with the taut ribbon. He smoothed his palms down the long line of soft flesh at the insides of her legs, moving up over her heated thighs towards his goal.

The ribbon finally stopped winding and Draco could see the muscles in her slim legs straining under the pull of the ribbon. She tried to swivel her knees in to hide herself and was unsuccessful. Draco watched her blush spread between her breasts and felt his control slip a little.

But it was incomplete. Before he allowed himself to touch her, he had one more task.

This time Draco made quick work of it as he came around the side of the bed and kneeled just above Hermione's pillow of curls. She had her eyes closed tightly and he almost laughed when he had to pry her fists from the bedspread. The ribbons made neat fishtail patterns from her wrists to halfway up her forearms. When her arms were pulled taut to the bedpost at the head of the bed, straining gently, Draco sat back on his heels and inspected his work.

It was glorious.

He had Hermione Granger, the prim and proper Gryffindor Head Girl, tied up, pulled open, and writhing in her tight bonds.

Draco leaned over and put his mouth next to her ear. His long fingers sunk into her soft hair and his fingertips rubbed at her scalp. "I can see your pussy in the mirror, Granger." He watched her legs twisting uselessly.

Draco licked at the shell of her ear. "I can see how wet you are from all the way over here. And I haven't even touched you yet." She turned her face into her arm and tugged once on her binds. Draco smiled.

"I can see your pussy juice dripping out of you. Can you feel it, Granger? Can you feel it dripping down over your tight little asshole? I could probably fuck you in the ass using only your pussy juice."

She whimpered into her arm and he chuckled.

"But, not tonight, Granger. Tonight I want to see that pretty pink pussy spread open for my cock."

Draco watched her take a deep breath, her nipples hard and straining upwards. He couldn't resist. He pulled his hands out of her hair and reached out to pinch a nipple in each hand, being careful not to touch any other part of her breasts. He rolled the hard little buds between his fingers and Hermione's back suddenly arched off the bed. He pinched harder and she moaned.

"That's right, Granger. I know you like it rough. Not the delicate princess everyone thinks you are, are you?" She didn't answer and Draco pulled her nipples up into the air, letting the weight of her full breasts and gravity tug at the sensitive buds so that she had to arch her back even more. Her eyes flew open and she took several gasping breaths against the pain. Draco gave her abused nipples a final tight pinch and let them fall. He'd like to do that with her pussy.

Draco climbed off the bed and went to stand in front of her spread legs again. God. She was beautiful. From her wild hair and flushed cheeks and chest, to her reddened nipples heaving with her breathing, to all that soft golden skin, and this perfect, pink pussy, shining with wetness.

Draco looked down at the tendons at the apex of her thighs as they strained hard. She was stretched in a very wide 'V' with her pussy angled up perfectly and the lips just starting to spread open. She was starting to squirm in her embarrassment at being looked at so closely. Draco smirked. She hated being looked at.

Using both hands, Draco pulled her pussy lips open and held her there.

_Yes._

He stared down into her dark pink cunt. It was a sight he would never get tired of. Hermione Granger's impossibly pink pussy. Spread open so wide. So open and so hot and slick. It took his breath away. He sunk his fingers just into the gaping opening and pulled her open again, further, stretching the skin taut and uncovering her swollen clit.

He groaned.

Draco's cock jerked hard. It was making a strong case for freedom and he regretfully left Hermione's sex to unbuckle his belt. He looked up at Hermione to see her face red with embarrassment and her need for relief. If it was anything like his, she was probably ready to scream. But then, Slytherins have copious amounts of patience compared to Gryffindors.

He brought his trousers and pants down together quickly and bent to step out of them. His cock jutted out and up in victory, pearly precome already beginning to ooze from the tip. Hermione's eyes were open again and staring in fascination at his cock. He grabbed it around the base and slowly stroked it. It was what she wanted, he knew. And he was just going to tease her a little with what she couldn't have yet.

Draco stepped closer so that his cock was directly over her splayed pussy, and very close. And stroked it. His knuckles ghosted over her pussy lips and nudged at her clit. Hermione tried to jerk her hips upward for more. She whimpered. Draco gripped his cock harder and did it again. Slowly. And again. His eyes rolled back in his head as he moaned loudly and decadently in pleasure.

But he had to stop or he would come all over her. He would save that for a special occasion.

He stepped back and kissed her right ankle. A long slow, sucking kiss just above the orchid satin holding her in place. Her foot twisted in its binding. Draco's tongue made a long line down the inside of her leg, stopping to lick at the back of her knee, where she twitched and let out a small plaintive sound. And then he kissed and sucked, open mouthed and hot, inside her thigh, just where her leg bent and inches away from her clenching pussy.

His fingers pulled at her swollen pussy lips again and he blew hot breath on her clit.

"I like you like this Granger. With your legs wide open and your pussy spread open for me."

A distressed groan escaped her. He was getting to her.

"How does it feel to know that I can use your body any way I want and there is nothing you can do about it?"

Draco blew on her clit again and then let go of her lips. He watched her eyes frantically search the ceiling and her breasts heaving with rapid breaths. She was close to losing it.

"I wonder what all your little Gryffindors would say if they could see you like this. What would they think of their precious Golden Girl?"

He let a finger trace lightly up and down her soaking slit. And then he went in for the kill.

"What would they think of you if they knew how much you like this? What would they think if they knew how badly you wanted it?" Cause he was sure now. She wanted this. And needed it. She needed this chance to surrender like this.

"Tell me how much you want it, Granger." His hand made wide, gentle sweeps over her protruding, wet pussy lips, just touching her sensitive clit on each pass. From her attempts to roll her hips up, Draco was pretty sure she was about desperate to come. Truthfully, he was pretty desperate himself. But the chance to watch her fall apart like this was too enticing.

"Tell me, Granger" She didn't make a sound. It was amazing to Draco how hard it was for her to ask for what she wanted. He wasn't sure if it was pride or shyness, but it wasn't serving her.

"Tell me, Granger!" Draco slapped her open pussy. Hermione gasped and it turned into a groan as she rolled her hips.

"Come on, Granger, say it," Draco growled and slapped her pussy again, harder this time. She bucked and a desperate sob broke out.

Draco brought his hand down on her pussy, the wet sensitive flesh making a loud thwacking sound in the quiet room. She moaned again, quicker, but still no words.

"Do you like having your pussy spanked, Granger?" He slapped her again. His cock felt like it was going to burst. He slapped the swollen flesh again. He was not being gentle. Her pussy was dark pink and slightly swollen. But she was trying so hard to roll her hips in her tight confines. Like she was trying to beg with her body.

Draco spanked her pussy again and again. Her hips bucked madly. He could feel his face and neck and chest heat up with arousal. But he needed her to say it.

He spread her puffy lips with one hand, just barely exposing her clit and let his fingers slap the bundle of nerves. "Tell me you want it, Granger, or I'll have to stop."

"No," she whimpered. Draco kept her lips spread but didn't slap her again. Her hips bucked in plea and she let out a distressed sob. He listened to her panting and trying at last to screw up her courage.

"No. Please. No." It was a quiet, pitiful attempt, but she was getting there.

"You have to say it, Granger."

"Yes… I want it. Plea…se," her voice broke. Hermione's eyes were shiny and Draco began to panic that he really had pushed her too far.

But then in a tiny, clear voice she continued, "I like it. I like…," she sucked in a breath, "I like you being in control. I need…Please… please, I want you to… I want you…"

_I want you._ It made his heart ache.

Draco bent over and sunk his fingers underneath her head. He captured her lips in his and kissed her with all the sublime ache he felt for her. It was hot and gentle and intense and so full of want that he had to break the kiss before he broke open.

He lifted his head and looked down into her amber eyes.

"Fuck me." It was a low, deep growl that came out from clenched teeth and caught Draco off guard. As though her admission had freed some primal self. Draco's cock throbbed and he positioned himself at her swollen abused entrance.

In a long, deep thrust, Draco buried himself in the hot, wet sheath of Hermione's pussy. His eyes slid shut and he stayed there for a moment feeling her walls squeeze almost painfully around his cock. He took a few deep breaths and tried not to come right then.

"Please, Draco."

Draco straightened and pulled out of her slowly. Her thighs trembled and he wrapped his hands around them and gripped them hard. He shoved back in hard. And again. And again. Somehow, her pussy squeezed him even tighter and Draco increased his pace.

He looked down between them at his cock, slick and shiny, disappearing between her wet lips, and then tugging at the inner flesh of her pussy as it clung to his shaft when he pulled out.

A prickly flush crept up Draco's back and shoulders as he pounded into her. Hermione's little begging moans pushed him faster. Harder. Her desperation making him desperate too. Her bound body tugged at the ribbons with every thrust and he watched, enthralled, as her head tilted back and the tendons in her neck pulled taut. Her back arched. He was lost in the moment, thrusting into her, on the edge of watching her fall apart.

He was fucking her like a man possessed. Like he needed to see her stripped her bare. To fuck her so thoroughly that she would know nothing but him.

He was going to come.

Draco released one of her thighs and his palm came down in a small slap on her engorged clit. She screamed. A guttural, rough, vicious scream that felt like it tore through Draco's head and down his spine.

His own strange, loud groan ripped out of him as he slammed into Hermione's convulsing pussy one last time. His body was rigid and his head thrown back as he exploded inside her.

Minutes, or centuries, later, the ribbons released their hold on the posts and Draco's sweaty, flushed body was falling on top of her. Hermione. Under him. Hot and sweaty, like him. His arms dug underneath her and clutched her tighter, his face buried in the soft curls at her neck.

He could feel the words forming in his mind. Little clouds coming into existence. There. Almost there. Soft. Quiet. _I love you._ He opened his mouth next to her ear. But they wouldn't materialize. He couldn't tell her. Not tonight when there was so much at stake. Maybe not ever. But he let his mouth stay open a moment just in case.

* * *

Hermione's eyes never opened after he fell on top of her, cradling her torso to his. Her legs curled around his thighs, and her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her fingers threading through the hair at the back of his head. The long ribbons draped over his back. But her eyes remained closed.

Draco lifted his head to look at her. He smiled.

She was a mess.

Her hair was tangled and wild and stuck to her face and neck in wet curly strands. And her skin was sweaty and blotchy pink on her cheeks and down her throat. She looked exhausted.

She was exquisite. This was the image he would keep with him tomorrow. His proof that he was worth something. Something good.

He rolled to her side and closed his eyes, trapping the image behind his eyelids.

* * *

Later, long after their breathing had evened out, and the ribbons were strewn across the floor, and they lay next to each other on their backs, eyes still closed at the edge of sleep, her voice found him.

"Draco?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you scared?"

Draco looked at the ceiling and blinked. With three little words she had made him feel instantly vulnerable and stripped. And a part of him hated her for it. And loved her for it.

His mind searched for an answer that wouldn't leave him exposed and defenseless, but all he found was the truth.

In the silent space between them, her small hand founds his and she threaded her fingers in his and squeezed.


	31. The Question

The ribbons were still on the floor. And the space next to Draco was still dented and warm and scented with honey and amber and jasmine and those other unnamable things that made up Hermione Granger.

Even absent now, he was filled up with her.

Draco lay in his bed watching the tiny snitch swinging from its chain, catching the winter light as it swung to the left, then retreating into shadow as it swung back.

_It's because I believe in you. _

He held the chain up higher to catch more of the light. He could still see the pink on her cheeks and her chin jutted out in all her incontrovertible conviction.

More than anything, he wants her conviction for himself. He wants to believe that he is a good man. A man treasured for his skills, his intelligence and the integrity living inside him that he has spent his past burying.

These things are Draco's tender leaves. Lying quietly in darkness. Delicate and frightened. Secretly hoping to push past his soiled history and bloom.

There is no grey area here. There is light. And there is dark. And the line is sharply drawn.

Draco let out a defeated sigh and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. He was standing on the line between two worlds, both doors closed to him.

With his elbows resting on his knees, Draco let the snitch rest against the open palm of one hand and touched a fingertip to it.

The shimmering wings unfolded.

* * *

The walk to Dumbledore's office was slow, each step echoing too loudly off the walls and taking too long. Draco's legs felt like they were made of heavy stone. He'd done nothing in his life to recommend himself to their cause, and yet, here he was, standing in front of the gargoyle with all his courage contained in the tiny silver ball around his neck.

In the golden column of the moving staircase, Draco widened his stance and set his shoulders against the buzzing in his head.

Happy New Year, Draco.

"Ah, good morning, Mr. Malfoy," the Headmaster said. Movement to Dumbledore's right cut off his reply and he stiffened.

No. No no no no no.

Hermione gave him a nervous half-smile, half-grimace that suggested it was Dumbledore's idea for her to be there.

Fucking fantastic.

"You're aware, I think, that Miss Granger is an Order member. I thought, since we were going, that it would be nice for her to see her friends."

Draco nodded curtly. Like he had any choice in the matter.

Dumbledore shuffled through the rolled up parchments piled precariously on his desk, begging their forgiveness while he searched for something he'd misplaced. _Accio parchment_ Draco thought sarcastically, but decided against saying anything. The longer he delayed the better.

The Head Girl was doing her best to appear casual as she feigned interest in a whirling gadget teetering at the edge of the mantle. She was also doing her best to avoid eye-contact, which, presently, Draco didn't mind at all.

She reached up to touch the base of the object and Draco's gaze snapped to a red mark across her wrist. His face flushed. Instantly, his mind locked on an image of dark orchid ribbons fishtailing up her ankles and calves. And the shiny pink of her sex.

"At last!" Dumbledore exclaimed, breaking Draco out of his untimely memories. "Well, let's get going. Miss Granger, why don't you lead the way?"

Hermione stepped into the fireplace without any floo powder and turned around. Dumbledore waved his hand and she disappeared in a swirl of blue flames. Well, that was new and momentarily distracting.

As soon as she was gone, Draco let out a long breath. In contrast to the images that had just played out in his mind, this morning he'd awoken to an entirely different image. One that had stayed with him even after she left for breakfast. A gloomy vision of Hermione, fuzzy at the edges of her hair, but sharp on her sad eyes, large and open and looking at him with disappointment. The embodiment of all his fears.

He didn't want her there when he was vulnerable and could hide it from anyone else.

"If you'll wait just a moment before we head over, Draco, I have a small matter I'd like to take care of first. It'll only take a minute." Fine. Whatever. Dumbledore didn't wait for Draco to answer anyway and left through a narrow door across the room.

Draco wiped his clammy hands on his robe, scowling. He was angry with himself for letting all this unsettle him. He was a Malfoy. If he wanted something, he took it. He never questioned his right to have it. But this thing… this… _independence_ from his family, this lived in a world he'd never considered possible. Like Hermione.

"Well, Draco, shall we?"

He hesitated. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"What happens...What happens if they don't…"

Dumbledore's smile was warm and understanding. "A simple memory charm. But I wouldn't concern yourself too much about that Draco."

Draco forced his frown into a straight line.

"Just step into the fireplace and I'll send you over. I'll be right behind you."

* * *

Hermione stepped into the narrow, lackluster kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place and directly into the arms of a squealing Ginny Weasley.

Over the shoulder of her friend, it appeared that there was a welcoming committee waiting. But judging from Ron's face, caught between scowling and gaping in surprise, Hermione guessed the assembly wasn't for her.

As soon as Ginny released her, Harry folded her in a tight hug.

"Good to see you, Hermione," he said. Harry didn't seem quite as surprised as everyone else and Hermione wondered if maybe her best friend and the Headmaster had been in on the plan. It was a little aggravating to think of them planning behind her back, but the idea had merit, so she let it go and returned Harry's hug fully.

"Thanks, Harry. It's good to see you too."

Harry stepped back and Hermione turned to Ron, whose expression hadn't changed.

"Are you going to say hello, Ron, or are you just going to gape at me?" she said, amused.

"What are you doing here?"

Hermione gave him a sarcastic smirk. "Hello to you too, Ron. Did you have a nice Holiday? That's great. Yeah, I missed you too."

Ron came out of his stupor and rolled his eyes, then smiled good-naturedly and went to hug her. "Sorry, 'Mione. I just didn't know you were coming."

"Clearly," she said as she hugged him back.

Mrs. Weasley bustled into the kitchen at that moment and Ron managed to get away just before she tackled Hermione in a crushing hug.

"Oh, Hermione! How are you, dear?" She let go in time for Hermione to suck in a breath and continued before Hermione could answer. "Everything going well at school? I hope you haven't spent your whole break studying."

"Well, I might have taken breaks long enough to eat once in while," _nevermind from what,_ she added mentally. "But I missed you all so much. How are you?"

Mrs. Weasley held Hermione's face in her hands and she was sure that Molly could feel her cheeks heating up at the reminder of what she ihad/i been doing over break.

"Oh, fine, fine, dear. You must be hungry. Come sit. I've got some nice, hot stew on the stove."

Hermione's reply was interrupted by the fireplace flaring to life.

And there was Draco. Stiff and imperious. A pristine column of black in a sea of faded jeans and colorful jumpers. A snake in the lions' den.

In that strange, stretched out moment, Hermione's senses focused on the sound of her breath, in and out, mingling with the expanding and contracting of the old house, and the lingering smell of the blue smoke in the fireplace. Like Draco, her eyes landed briefly on each person in the room, starting and ending with Ron.

Everyone looked like they expected Draco to whip out his wand and cast Avada Kedavra's at them.

"Malfoy," Harry said carefully.

The bubble of tension in the room popped soundlessly and time rushed forward to catch up. Before Draco could respond, Mrs. Weasley pounced on him. The shock on Draco's face as Mrs. Weasley fussed over him was nearly comical. Hermione would have laughed if she wasn't in shock herself.

"Draco. Well, just look at you," she exclaimed warmly as though addressing a beloved nephew she hadn't seen in a while. She gripped his upper arms in her short pudgy fingers and held him away from her to look at him. "My, what a tall young man you've become. And so handsome."

Draco looked like he was in extreme distress with his arms stick-straight in Molly's grasp and his eyes wide and blinking. Hermione had the idea that as soon as Molly let go, Draco might run back into the fireplace. She caught a glimpse of Ginny across the room, trying to hold in her giggles, and had to bite down on her own lips to stop her emerging grin.

Harry looked like Christmas had come twice.

Ron, however, was turning a startling shade of red, and he banged his bottle of butterbeer down loudly on the table. Hermione rolled her eyes. What a baby.

If Molly was aware of her son's feelings on the subject of Draco Malfoy – and chances were excellent that she was – she turned a deaf ear and kept up with her fussing.

She insistently ushered Draco to the far end of the kitchen and made him sit down at the long wooden table.

"Come on, Hermione. You too. Let's get some food in you both and you'll be right as rain."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," she said, ignoring Draco's panicked glare. This house was too small for more than one baby. Draco would just have to buck up and deal with it.

She climbed onto the bench opposite him. Opposite, and a seat to the left. Just to be on the safe side.

* * *

This _had_ to be Hell. Draco was sure of it. He had died at some point during his floo trip and he'd landed in Hell. As he sat at the gouged and ratty table, not daring to open his mouth, Draco wondered which of his wicked deeds had been the deciding factor. He probably shouldn't have tied up the Gryffindor Princess. Or spanked her.

Potter sat next to Hermione, and the Weaselette, looking entirely too eager for Draco's taste, climbed in on the other side of her directly across from him. Weasley stood just behind them while he apparently made up his mind that killing Draco wouldn't be as satisfying as drawing out the torture as long as possible. From the looks of it, it was a tough decision, but the red-headed prat eventually sat down on the other side of Potter.

Great. A Gryffindor firing squad. Draco maintained a disinterested look as best he could. Yawning would be a nice touch. Risky. But nice. Nobody spoke. Where was Dumbledore?

Mild panic set in when Mrs. Weasley headed back towards the table with two large, streaming bowls floating in front of her. Who knew what kind of tripe they served here. The grey kitchen looked barely fit enough to serve gruel in. Besides, there was no way he could eat with his stomach in knots. He'd skipped breakfast for that very reason.

The bowls touched down gently in front of them and Draco begrudgingly admitted it was nicely done. Too many people figured making things fly was good enough and neglected the art of setting them down again.

It smelled bloody fantastic. Not that he was prepared to eat with four sets of eyes trained on him. Where the _fuck _was Dumbledore?

"You two eat up," Mrs. Weasley urged. "Come on, Ginny, you and I have work to do."

The youngest Weasley rolled her eyes dramatically and slumped away from the table. "Fine," she groaned following her mother out of the room.

Super. Alone with the Golden Trio. Life was playing a joke on him. And then his stomach growled loudly. Oh, no… _NOW,_ life was playing a joke on him. Harry snickered.

Hermione was four spoonfuls into her bowl and she looked up at the sound. Draco kept his hands in his lap and averted his eyes towards the fireplace.

"Honestly, Draco! It's not poisoned," Hermione admonished, but she was smirking at him. Oh, this was so unfair.

"Too bad for that," the Weasel grumbled, just loud enough for there to be no doubt that Draco could hear him.

In a totally backwards and wrong kind of way, he was glad the Weasel was here. He might not know where he stood with the Order, or Potter, or even Hermione, but he knew where he stood with the Weasel. It wasn't hard to tell.

He was about to retort when Hermione cut in, "Ronald Weasley, if you are _quite_ done behaving like a bloody, whiny prat, we'd all appreciate it."

Nice. It was pleasant to know that he wasn't the only one who'd been on the other end of Granger's indignation.

Weasley glared at her hard. "Piss off, Hermione!" he bit out and scraped the bench on the floor as he stood up to stomp out of the room. The kitchen door slammed behind him leaving Hermione staring at it with her mouth open and indignation rushing to her face. Though Draco tried to cover it, he let out a sigh of relief that he was gone.

Then Potter began to chuckle. For a second, Draco thought he might be going a bit barmy, but then Granger, too, was fighting a grin. An annoyed one, but a grin all the same. _Gryffindors._

"Good grief, Harry, has he been like that this whole time?"

"That was tame, actually," he said with a wry smile.

Draco, however, could suddenly, and clearly, see his biggest obstacle. Ron Weasely. Hermione Granger's other best friend.

She might be ready to give him a piece of her mind now, but if Weasley put up the fight that Draco suspected he would, there was little question where Draco would land in the fallout.

"I'm really glad you're here, Hermione," Harry said easily. "Now, please tell me you haven't really spent your entire break studying?"

Draco kept his eyes on his stew, tipping his spoon in his mouth and swallowing, but he could feel his self-satisfied smirk down to his toes.

"You know, Harry, it wouldn't kill you if you cracked a book now and then. Just because you are on Holiday, doesn't mean you should slack off entirely."

Draco could feel his mouth quirking with pride at his little lion's ability to divert attention and at her scolding the Boy Wonder. But when Potter didn't take offense as expected, Draco suddenly became aware of Potter's eyes on him.

The weight of Potter's gaze was hard to ignore and when he couldn't avoid it any longer, Draco turned to glare at him, or tell him to _fuck off._ But Potter's look was intense and contemplative, like he was puzzling something out, and it made Draco's heart thump suddenly against his ribs.

And then, just as suddenly, it was gone, and he'd turned back to Hermione. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Professor Dumbledore thought I might like to see my friends and invited me to come along."

Harry snorted, "Right. I'm sure it had nothing to do with your being here helping to make the transition easier for some people. I mean, seeing as how you and Malfoy _are_ friends…"

Draco scowled into his stew. "I don't need any _help,_ Potter," he said bitterly.

Potter and Hermione shared a look and Potter rolled his eyes. "Shocking as it may be, Malfoy, I wasn't actually talking about _you._"

Where the _fuck_ was Dumbledore?

Hermione abandoned Harry and Draco in the kitchen with the excuse of finding Ron and tell-him-just-exactly-what-she-thought-of-his-little-display, and I-hope-he-hasn't-been-a-total-lay-about-too-he-simply-can't-afford-not-to-prepare-for-his-NEWTS…

After the door swung shut, Draco and Harry sat in tense silence, Harry drumming his fingers on the table and Draco staring into his empty bowl, until Harry suggested they wait in the library.

* * *

The narrow hallway off the kitchen was dark and musty, like rooms closed off for too long without air. The faint green cast to the walls gave Draco the sense of being at the bottom of a murky lake. Like he was walking in algae and slimy mud. A feeling of war seemed to have permeated this place. Or what he suspected war felt like anyway. But there was also something familiar about the hallway. Not comforting, just…familiar. The eerie green light spilled down the staircase at the end of the hall, sending rail-post shadows against the wall like a jail cell.

A scurrying movement at the end of the hall caught Draco's eye and he looked over Potter's shoulder to find a small house-elf rubbing a cloth slowly over the nameplate of a picture frame. Potter seemed disinclined to acknowledge the house-elf and the house-elf seemed to agree.

Draco wondered briefly if Hermione was aware of Potter's lack of manners towards house-elves. The ugly little creature (okay, so Draco wouldn't be signing up for S.P.E.W. anytime soon) turned to give Draco a once-over and froze wide-eyed. God, it was ugly. And old. And badly in need of an ear-hair trimming.

And then, to his surprise and horror, the elf rushed past Potter and dropped to its knees in front of Draco. "Oh. Oh. Oh, Sir…" it said in a raspy voice, "Oh. Noble, _NOBLE_ Sir! You… You is… _HERE!_" The elf was beside itself, stuttering and making an abundance of grand, sweeping gestures that didn't match up with its words.

Draco didn't bother to hide either his confusion or his disgust at the prostrate and inarticulate elf fawning over him.

"Oh," it continued, "Oh, we has waited and hoped and prayed for your beautiful, excellent, honored presence…"

"Get a grip, Kreacher," Potter said dryly and turned to go up the stairs. Draco continued to stare aghast at the elf. Did… Did it just… _growl_ at Potter? That's…highly unusual.

Draco stepped back and carefully around onto the first stair tread, ready to escape the crazy elf, when a loud gasp had him turning around again. There was an old, matriarchal woman glaring at him from the painting on the wall. Draco had the distinct feeling that he'd seen her somewhere before.

"It is about time, Mr. Malfoy," the portrait scolded. Her tone immediately brought a hex to the tip of his tongue, but he was caught off guard that the painting knew his name. She'd apparently seen him too. "Too long has this house been under the influence of those unworthy. You've allowed mudbloods and blood-traitors to soil…"

Potter flicked his wrist at the painting and a heavy black curtain flew shut in front of the frame, abruptly silencing the screechy old lady.

A little alarmed, Draco looked to Potter, who only rolled his eyes in annoyance. He turned back up the stairs muttering, "Can't get rid of either one of the blasted, old…"

Draco looked around now, taking in the stained striped wallpaper and the dusty corners of the stair treads. A weird feeling settled in the pit of Draco's stomach as his awareness of the house prickled against his skin, knocking at the edges of his mind like something he might have known at one time but had since forgotten.

He looked up for the source of the sickly light and his stomach lurched. Three preserved and slightly shriveled looking house-elf heads were mounted under glass high on the wall overhead. He was sure now. He'd been here before.

Draco stepped onto the landing behind Potter just as a loud thud like a heavy book dropping came through the closed door on their left. They both looked at the door and heard the unmistakable sound of an irate Hermione Granger.

"Just who do you think you are, Ronald Weasley? You have no right strutting around telling me what to do or think! How dare you suggest that _you,_ of _all people_ are just being logical! And _obviously?_" her voice rose in pitch and fervor. "You mean, like in third year, when you accused my cat of _obviously_ eating Scabbers? Or in fourth year, when you accused Harry of _obviously_ cheating and then abandoned him during the TriWizard Tournament? Or maybe you mean _obviously_ like in fifth year…"

Potter grinned at Draco, "Not a good idea to make Hermione angry."

"Yes. I know."

Potter raised a questioning eyebrow.

"She didn't know about me and…. any of this," he explained with a wave of his hand, indicating his request to join The Order.

There was a puzzled look on Potter's face, followed only by, "huh".

A door opened behind them and Remus Lupin emerged, smiling. "Hello, Harry! Mr. Malfoy. How do you?"

"Fine, Sir," Draco replied, not feeling fine at all.

"Been a long time, eh?" he said looking around at the landing. "Well, you two go on in and Dumbledore will come let you know when it's time." With that, he bounded down the stairs and out of sight.

"Where the hell are we?" Draco demanded as soon as they walked into the library.

Potter turned around with a strange, mad sort of smile on his face, "Oh, didn't you know? This is your house."

"_Excuse me?"_

"Well, okay, not exactly 'your' house, but you are currently standing in the library of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." He said with a flair of his hands.

"That obnoxious portrait downstairs would be your Great Aunt Walburga Black. Piece of work, that one. And it seems that my _devoted_ house elf is simply beside himself with glee at the hope that you are here to rescue him from the evil mudbloods and blood traitors that spend countless hours torturing him. As if we have nothing better to do."

"The House of Black?" was all Draco's eloquent, stuttering brain could manage.

"And if that doesn't bend your mind, try this. Your ancestral home was owned by your cousin, Sirius Black. First cousin, once removed, to be exact. Who," he paused for effect, "is my Godfather. He left the house to me when he died two years ago."

Potter plopped down in a large armchair and picked up a Quidditch magazine, leafing through it while Draco stood dumbly staring at him.

So many thoughts and feelings rushing in on Draco that he couldn't sort them out. It was too much. His purpose in being here, Granger's unexpected presence, his bizarre reception, and now this. For ten minutes he stood in front of a wall of books, staring at the titles and not seeing them.

He just had to get through the questioning. That's all. He could decide later how he felt about the fact that Potter owned what would be his Aunt Bella's or his mother's home.

"I bet it's just killing you that we're connected in this way. By family." Potter gloated with the air of someone who'd had more than five minutes to get used to the idea.

"Shut up, Potter."

* * *

Lupin poked his head in to ask Harry and Draco to wait in the drawing room since they were just about ready.

His heart and stomach and every other important organ he had, suddenly felt like they were lodged in the middle of his throat. Draco swallowed around it. Nevermind the damn house.

He followed Potter down the large hallway taking deep careful breaths and trying to slow the crashing waves in his chest. Thank God Potter couldn't see him.

The heavy oak door of the drawing room closed behind him and Draco stood just inside the room. Potter motioned to the wall behind Draco. "The Black Family Tree," he explained.

Draco turned and felt everything inside him stop. Fifty pairs of eyes stared down at him. The entire Black line, as pureblooded as the Malfoys, everything he was raised to be – the legacy he was bred to inherit – glared at him through their black, twisting vines. He didn't know where to look. He didn't _want_ to look, but there was his grandfather, Cygnus, and his grandmother. And his Aunt Bellatrix – eyes gleaming madly even in needlepoint – and a black scorch mark where Andromeda Tonks would have been. The fate of traitors.

And like a magnet, his eyes locked onto his mother and his heart let out a deep, aching throb to see her face again. And there was his father, haughty and damning, staring out at him. His father was going to watch. From his needle and thread image, he was about to witness his son's betrayal to everything he believed in. Draco swallowed past the thickness in his throat.

And then he looked down between his mother and father. There he was. Draco Malfoy. About to be burnt out of his own family.

Fuck.

All the energy and tension of his anxiety bled out of him. He felt heavy and exhausted. In the face of his lineage, his determination to end the Malfoy name's association with darkness felt impossible. Too mired in muck and mud and cruelty and the weight of history.

Draco turned his back on his family to find Potter looking at him, his bright green eyes frank and open behind his glasses.

He held Potter's gaze and was steadied by it. There was an understanding there. Something between them that passed beyond schoolboy rivalry. Something human. And it gave him strength and reminded him that someone believed in him.

Potter knew what Draco was giving up to be here and Draco found that he was grateful that someone understood.

Still holding Draco's gaze, Potter called out for Kreacher.

"Tell Dumbledore that we'll be meeting in the sitting room instead." When the elf popped out of the room, Potter had the decency not to mention the change.

* * *

Okay. Not what he'd expected. Somehow, he'd imagined something a little more… prison like. Dark and grimy, like an interrogation room or a holding cell in the windowless depths of the Ministry.

A large fireplace glowed and crackled loudly, sending warmth into all but the farthest corners of the room. The curtains had been flung open, sending the white light of a wintery morning cascading over the plump couches and chairs. And mercifully, there was no sign of any Black or Malfoy pureblood fanatics staring down at him. It would be so much easier to be gutted without everyone watching.

A minute later, Dumbledore came in _at last,_ followed by MadEye Moody's stumpy swagger, and Arthur Weasley, looking considerably more wary than his wife.

"Why don't we all get comfortable and I'll have some tea brought up."

Moody stumped over to the chair furthest in and facing the door. He sat on the edge of the seat, his crazy eye swerving over every inch of the room. The senior Weasley sat in an armchair across from him and casually crossed a long leg over his knee. There was something professional in his manner. An economy of movement that contradicted the way Draco thought of Weasleys. It was almost…elegant. Not that he'd admit that. _Except under Veritaserum_ his brain added wryly.

Dumbledore pointed Draco to a plush comfortable-looking pale gold chair, and took the red Victorian chair directly across from him.

Potter sat with his legs folded up in a gold chair like Draco's, off to the side a bit.

So these were his executioners.

Mad Eye Moody. Scarred and disfigured from years of pursuing Death Eaters. Draco's aunt. His father. His whole bloody family tree in the next room. Draco looked at the harsh line of his scowl. At the eagerness in his posture. He would be the first in this group to tear into Draco, the first to twist his answers and damn him.

Arthur Weasley. Draco's mind skipped through the countless times his father had degraded the senior Weasley. From his pensive expression, Draco imagined he was remembering the same thing. For once Draco wished that he didn't look so much like his father. And for his infuriated son's sake, Draco thought Arthur Weasley might be almost as eager to cut him down as Moody.

Draco looked at Potter and remembered that day in front of the gargoyle. Potter didn't need Veritaserum, he'd said. Suddenly his mind skipped back in time, leaving him standing in front of an eleven year old Potter with his palm outstretched in offering.

And Dumbledore. Draco's heart sank. His headmaster was smiling warmly and twinkling in that way Dumbledore did. The only adult who'd ever suggested Draco could be something more than his father's son. If he disappointed Dumbledore, it would gut him.

Draco looked across the room at the bright window and wondered what Hermione was doing right now. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Kreacher appeared with a tea service and went about preparing a cup for each of them. Just then, Lupin came in, a bit out of breath but smiling.

"Have some tea, Remus," Dumbledore waved his hand casually toward Kreacher before taking a sip from his own cup.

"Thanks, Albus. I think I will. Thank you, Kreacher," he said taking a cup and saucer from Kreacher and dropping into the chair next to Draco.

It was all very polite and pleasant and it only served to make Draco more nauseous.

There was a thin line of sweat breaking out along his hairline, and though he thought he was doing a good job appearing indifferent, he had to keep his eyes on a large painting above the fireplace to avoid looking anyone in the eyes. The crazy house-elf offered him a teacup with a deep, old-fashioned bow, and he mentally cursed its timing and tried not to blush in embarrassment. Potter snickered.

Draco's mind was swimming with all the questions he'd prepared for, feverishly reviewing the pat answers he'd like to give, as well as the answers he feared he give. It was a sickening feeling, having no control. He would be at the mercy of his inner most self and it terrified him. For a moment he wished he had some way of eluding the Veritaserum, but then he reminded himself that he was going to jump off this cliff with a clear conscience.

Draco focused on keeping his long fingers still. Mr. Weasley and Moody discussed the merits of some new invention – clearly a conversation continued from earlier – and were interrupted by Dumbledore.

"Well, how about we put Mr. Malfoy out of his misery and get on with it," Dumbledore said happily. This time Draco wasn't so sure he'd managed to keep the red off his face.

The energy in the room sharpened as everyone sat up a little straighter, except for Potter who seemed to be acting more as an observer than a participant. The knot in Draco's stomach cinched tighter. His mind suddenly landed on the snitch hidden under his shirt, and – as he didn't dare do it physically – he imagined himself holding it, the little wings unwrapping and coming to life under his fingertips. And quite unexpectedly, not to mention untimely, he thought of Granger, legs spread, coming to life on his bed.

"First, I suggest we get the Veritaserum out of the way, so we can move on to more important things," Dumbledore inclined his head toward Moody. Draco was so glad for the interruption that he missed the cryptic phrase "more important things."

Moody reached in his vest and pulled out a small vial and handed it to him.

Draco felt like he was going to detonate. Before the rampaging herd of hippogriffs burst through his belly, he unscrewed the cap quickly and tipped it back. The bitter potion was cold and metallic in his mouth and throat and he couldn't help his disgusted grimace.

Moody huffed loudly. Mr. Weasely smiled and suggested he wash down the bad taste with some tea. The tea wouldn't diminish the effects. Draco took his advice.

And waited. He looked at Dumbledore, and Mr. Weasley, and Potter, and Lupin and Moody, all watching him expectantly. All he felt was the churning in his stomach and the buzzing in his mind. He wondered if it had worked. Maybe it hadn't worked, and Draco would be able to sidestep any uncomfortable topics. He could always hope.

"Well then, that's settled," Dumbledore said, drawing the eyes away from Draco. "Some formalities… What is your name?"

Ah. There it was. Compulsion. A heavy pulling at his insides. A sting that made his ears prickle. An easy question, and he tried fighting it, to see if he could. "Draco Malfoy," he replied without hesitation.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"Yes." The compulsion was strong. It didn't give him even a moment to wrestle with it.

Moody clunked his wooden leg against his chair leg, "Are you here of your own free will?" he groused.

"Yes, I am."

With each question and reply, Draco could feel the inevitable encroaching. The things he didn't want to say, things he didn't want to answer for, moving in and making his chest tight.

"Good." It was Arthur Weasely who spoke next. "Draco, the Order of the Phoenix is a group of people from all walks of life, purebloods to squibs, dedicated to fighting Dark Wizards and Witches and those seeking power who would do so at any cost to others. Principle among those is Voldemort and the Death Eaters. The members of the Order of the Phoenix believe that Voldemort must be destroyed and are working toward that goal."

His tone was serious, but not unkind, and Draco found himself hanging onto every word, feeling desperate to take in every single thing he said.

There was a pregnant silence that seemed to pull each person into their own thoughts, as if reminding themselves, yes, this is this important work I'm doing and I still believe in it.

"Do you understand what I've told you, Draco?"

"Yes. I do." The teacup rattled in his hand and he set it down. It was almost here. He could feel it. _Importance_ hung in the air. Still and heavy.

"Good," Mr. Weasley sat forward and continued carefully. Deliberately. Draco held his breath.

"Draco Malfoy, are you committed, without reservation, to the fight against Dark Witches and Wizards, Voldemort and Death Eaters?"

It would have been a good time to take a moment and do a thorough search of his soul to be sure of his answer, even just to _appear_ that he was thinking carefully about his answer, so that they would believe him. But then, there it was, with no help from him, pulled from the darkest and brightest places of truth inside him.

"Yes." Unequivocally. Simply. Truthfully. Yes.

Draco blinked.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion. Looking around at the faces staring at him, one by one, to confirm that, yes, that had just happened. He'd said yes. Under Veritaserum, he'd answered yes without hesitation.

In his deepest fears – not the ones about all the horrible things he'd done to the Golden Trio, or the singular pain he'd smugly caused a bushy-haired eleven year old girl, not even his fears of disappointing his family – in his _most secret,_ most hidden fears, he was _sure_ that the Veritaserum would reveal some part of him that still believed that muggleborns were scum, that purebloods were superior, and that no matter what he did – ever – he would always be evil.

He felt like he could fly. Without his broom.

Lupin stood up, still smiling, and then Moody and Dumbledore. Mr. Weasley gave him a scrutinizing, thoughtful look for a minute before standing as well. Draco looked up at all the standing men and wondered what was going on. Potter smirked at him over his teacup.

"We'll be back soon, Draco. Just sit tight for a few minutes," Lupin said as he held the door open for the Order members, and they walked out, leaving him alone with Potter.

"Where are they going?"

Potter raised one eyebrow and set his tea down. He had a malicious sort of glee on his face that made Draco want to hit him. "They've gone to determine your fate, Malfoy," he said with a wicked grin.

"What?" Draco nearly shouted. "That's _it?_ One bloody question? 'Are you bloody committed?'" Draco was scandalized. "Do you lot let just anybody in?"

"It was _the_ question, Malfoy. And, no, we _don't_ just let anybody in. Nor do we make them swear eternal servitude and brand them for life."

"I could have… I could taken a potion or something, an antidote, to counteract the Veritaserum," Draco reasoned even though he didn't know of any such antidote.

Potter shrugged a shoulder, looking unconcerned. "You could have. And maybe it could work… _if_ you had taken the single dosage Moody was going to tell you to take before you downed the whole vial." Potter was smirking. "With the amount you took, you'd need an ocean of antidote."

Draco's eyes widened. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Idiot. He narrowed his eyes at Potter and tried to regain his composure. It was easier to focus on Potter. Change the subject. Maybe he could get him to go away.

"Why didn't you go with them? Afraid to leave me alone?" he drawled.

"Right," Potter said dryly.

Potter leaned back in his chair and gave Draco a scrutinizing look. Draco tried not to squirm under the frankness of Potter's stare and met it with a glare of his own. Potter looked like he was having an internal debate over something.

Harry leaned towards him. "They already know what I think. Besides, what I want to know, Malfoy…"

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Is what your intentions are towards Hermione."

Draco's stomach plummeted. _Oh, fuck…_

"Because if you ask me," Potter continued, leaning in a little too close, a little too confidently, "I'd say you're in love with her."


	32. Down, down, down

Chapter 32 Down, down, down

Harry. Potter. Was going. To. _Die._

Bastard.

There was a thick roaring just inside Draco's skull, hard, pounding water rushing past his ears. Draco braced himself against the pull of the Veritaserum. He held his body tight and very still. So still that the involuntary quick, small thump of his pulse in his neck was the only movement visible. He wasn't even sure he was breathing. Every inch of his body was armored with determination. He wouldn't give Potter this. Couldn't give Potter this.

Four full seconds ticked by.

Potter's smirking mouth twitched as he watched Draco fight to keep his secrets to himself. He fought the compulsion to not drive his fist into Potter's smug face.

Potter leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. "Relax, Malfoy. Veritaserum only works when asked a direct question. Your secrets are yours to keep."

Another four seconds. Un. Fucking. Believable. Bastard.

"You suck, Potter."

* * *

Draco sulked until the door opened again and Mr. Weasley came in, followed by Dumbledore. Mr. Weasley's expression was closed, though not unkind, and Draco hated that he couldn't read it. And Dumbledore, well, Draco imagined that the old man's eyes would glitter with mirth even as he was about to cast an Unforgivable.

Dumbledore stopped in front of the seat Draco occupied and smiled down at him. Heart hammering in his chest, and hope soaring up through his gut, Draco stood.

"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Draco." Dumbledore grasped Draco's hand warmly and shook it.

An enormous wave of heat rushed up Draco's neck and face, leaving him off-balance and his cheeks prickling, strangely self-conscious of Potter's presence beside him.

Later, he wouldn't be able to say how he'd responded, if he'd managed to maintain his composure or melted into the ground. All he would remember was the swollen feeling in his head and behind his eyes. A feeling of both suffocating underwater and gasping in that first breath of air after breaking the surface.

"Thank you, Sir," he said politely, as if one of the most important things to ever happen to him hadn't just occurred. He looked into the wrinkled face of his headmaster, glowing with a fatherly kind of pride that made Draco feel flushed around his ears.

Potter moved towards the door and the motion drew Draco's eye. The git smirked at him (again!) just before heading out of the room.

Arthur Weasley welcomed him also, _professionally_, and perhaps a little warily. He'd enlarged one of the small tables in the room and moved it closer to the bright window, transfiguring the large squashy chairs into table chairs instead. Moody and Lupin returned a moment later, followed by the ugly house elf with a large tray of sandwiches and bowls of the steaming stew he'd eaten earlier. The smell of the food, delicious as it was, just made him feel queasy.

Dumbledore clapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him to sit down. The others were all taking spots at the table and helping themselves to the lunch provided.

"Now the hard work, Malfoy." Moody's overlarge eye swiveled around wildly before seemingly gluing itself in position to stare directly at Draco. Queasy, yes.

"Never met anyone so eager to tell the truth," he quipped. Draco groaned internally. If Moody knew how to smile, it probably looked something like the maniacal contortion of teeth and lips and scarred cheeks that was suddenly twisting his face. "Severus should be here shortly with extra Emoveoserum to counteract the Veritaserum."

Severus? Severus _Snape?_ How many people could be named Severus? It couldn't be…

As if he were able to read Draco's mind, Dumbledore answered, "Yes, Draco. Your Head of House is in the Order also."

"As soon as the serum takes effect, we'll find out what you know," Moody continued. "Probably have some useful information in that blond head of yours, considering your particular iconnections. /i" Right. His father. But before Draco could feel too uncomfortable, the door slammed open again, and Snape scowled his way to the table. He unceremoniously plonked a vial down on the wood in front of Draco.

Snape raised an admonishing eyebrow at him making Draco feel about an inch big. Slytherins are masters of expression. Snape's was clearly saying, "Really, Draco. The whole vial? In the future, do try to think before you act. People will begin to think you're a bloody Gryffindor. And this place is quite overrun with them as it is." Draco may have added the last part in his head, but it probably wasn't far off the mark.

This time Draco waited for instructions. He wasn't prone to repeating mistakes.

"You'll need to take the whole thing. It won't be pleasant." Draco was pretty sure that Snape was relishing just how _unpleasant_ it would be – probably thought it would help drive the lesson home. Snape watched intently as he swallowed the entire vial of horrible sour liquid. When Lupin conjured a glass of pumpkin juice for him, Snape looked decidedly disappointed.

Potter returned then and took the seat next to Draco, immediately reaching for a sandwich and ignoring Snape's presence.

His fun spoiled and his least favorite pupil present, Snape left the room, leaving Draco under the weight of five pairs of eyes.

"Right then, Draco, is it true your father bought your way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team in your second year?" Moody asked suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Draco spluttered.

"Looks like the antidote has taken effect."

Oh. Draco took a deep breath and let it out loudly.

"Let's get down to business, then. You know that the Ministry searched Malfoy Manor in September…" Mr. Weasley began. The reminder was a solid blow to his gut. The images of his mother that had haunted him for the last four months swam before his eyes and he stiffened. Mr. Weasley must have noticed because his expression immediately softened and he continued more warmly.

"We'd like you to tell us about Malfoy Manor. Ancestral homes often have layers upon layers of history, charms, enchantments, curses. I'm sure there are things the Ministry missed."

They were all looking eagerly at him. At his hesitation, Arthur added, "None of the information you give us will be shared with the Ministry. It's strictly Order knowledge."

Draco nodded. _Yes._ He'd said _yes._ Yes, he _was_ dedicated to bringing down that power hungry madman who'd stolen his family from him. And for reasons he couldn't fathom, these people – these four Gryffindors and a paranoid ex-Auror – had been very careful _not_ to ask him anything about his home, his father, Gryffindors, Death Eaters, anything while under the effects of the Veritaserum. He wouldn't hold anything back. He sat up and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, and began.

For a solid two hours he detailed every nook and cranny of Malfoy Manor, and there were many. More than the Ministry could have imagined. Ancient family spells that hid secrets in plain sight. The library was stocked with what was thought to be the largest collection of Dark Arts books in existence. There were secret rooms with horrific pasts. Secret rooms stashed with illegal instruments. Hidden laboratories for 'experimenting'. Lucius Malfoy would be shocked to know that Draco even knew about many of them. But Draco had been a curious and thorough boy, and his father had left him alone too often. The legends of the Great and Mighty Malfoy Name he had been fed as a child, had him devouring every family text he could find. There were worlds of secrets in hidden in Malfoy Manor. He spilled them all.

They took a break around three o'clock and Draco followed Potter around the rest of the Black House. He only had vague memories of it as a child. Bits and pieces. The curtains in the library. Dark green marble with gold veins surrounding a fireplace. A tiny painting in a plain frame, tucked into a dark corner, of an old man with stark white hair and a ruffled sapphire blue high collar, smiling in a way that looked obscene among the other dour, lifeless Black portraits. What he didn't remember was that Grimmauld Place had a back yard.

He and Potter stood on the icy stairs looking over the small brick-enclosed yard. Even buried under a thick quilt of snow, a yard seemed like an entirely too optimistic space for the Blacks. Maybe they buried their dead back here.

It was one of those overcast winter days when the sky and snow and everything in between were the same hard, dull grey. It was the kind of miserable and dreary day that drove out thoughts of cozy fires and thick socks, leaving nothing but grey and cold and grey.

A voice called Potter's name from inside and he left Draco standing alone on the porch watching his breath billow out and disappear in the biting air.

When they returned to the sitting room it was for more of the same. Draco catalogued every person he could remember ever visiting the Manor. Everyone from the Arborist and family physician to people he knew for sure were Death Eaters. His father had been fairly careful not to conduct "business" out in the open, but Draco had done his best to eavesdrop as often as possible, as any child would. And Draco was clever, even as a young child, so he'd done a damn good job of it. He'd named so many people he began to lose track of who he'd mentioned. When Draco had started to repeat too many names, he thought about the one person he hadn't mentioned and hesitated.

"Anyone else?" the Headmaster asked.

Draco's foot bounced under the table. He just wasn't sure… The Headmaster gave him a pointed look. "Well, yes… Professor Snape, actually. Frequently."

"Ah, yes, Severus," Dumbledore said knowingly. Draco wasn't sure what to make of it. Nobody seemed alarmed by the idea that their Order member was a regular guest at the home of a known Death Eater. Lupin didn't even write it down with the other names.

"A friend of your father's, wasn't he?" Dumbledore added.

"My mother's, actually. Though, I think he started out as father's friend."

Dumbledore's gaze looked far away for a moment and he mumbled, "Yes, yes, of course…" but didn't add anything further.

The lack of surprise or explanation spoke volumes and the truth hit Draco all at once as his opinion of Severus Snape skyrocketed. He was a spy.

* * *

They spent another hour further emptying Draco of everything he knew about his father's business affairs: everything to do with the Ministry, and even with his mother, though not as in-depth. Draco racked his brain to remember as much as he could, sure that at any moment someone was going to pop back in the room and announce, "So sorry. We made a mistake. Actually, your pinky moved when you first answered, and I'm afraid we can't accept you into the Order after all. We'll just Obliviate you now and send you back to the dungeons." He was, quite literally, sitting on the edge of his seat.

But it never happened. Stomachs growled loudly (though, thankfully, not his, this time) and it was generally agreed that Draco had given them more than enough valuable information to get started with. Moody grumbled as he stood and stumped off to a hidey-hole somewhere and Lupin begged off dinner with the group with a guilty look and hurried out the door, shaking Draco's hand quickly on his way out.

Potter gave Draco another one of those long appraising looks that made him feel like he would start squirming at any moment, but was interrupted by Mr. Weasely. "You're welcome to stay for dinner, Draco. I'm sure Molly has made quite a feast this evening."

Before Draco could really panic - and before Potter could keel over in laughter - Dumbledore answered for him, "I imagine Mr. Malfoy could do with a little time to himself after this long day. And, if I'm not mistaken, there's still Peeves to contend with. The Hogwarts house elves would be very grateful indeed if he was straightened out before the students come back tomorrow. The students cause quite enough mayhem all by themselves."

Draco took the out. "Certainly, Professor." With that he stood up, thanked Mr. Weasley for the invitation, wondering if he should shake his hand or not. Mr. Weasley smiled warmly at him and held out his own hand, solving the dilemma.

"Any time, Draco. Thank you for your openness today. You had the freedom to share as much as you saw fit, and the information you've given us will be of immense value. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that you surprised us all."

His blue eyes twinkled in a decidedly Dumbledorian fashion and he added, "I have a feeling we will be even more surprised when we get a chance to learn about your skills. I hear you're lightning fast and rather formidable on a broom as well as with a wand."

Now Draco did blush and out of the corner of his eye, saw Potter picking determinedly at his sleeve. "Thank you, Sir."

* * *

Hermione's knee bounced uncontrollably under the large table in the library. Seaweed, Sea grass, Sea cucumbers. Four books lay open around her, turned to pages of sea creatures and ocean geography, and a large map of the Pacific Ocean, circa 1512, lay rolled out over it all. Even the largest body of water on earth couldn't drown out the itchy feeling that crawled through her insides.

She popped up for the umpteenth time and went back to the bookcase, running her fingers up and down dusty old leather spines, embossed with titles she wasn't really reading, by authors she couldn't bring herself to care about. Behind her Ron let out another loud huff, presumably at his sister who was soundly beating him in The Longest Chess Game In History. Though Hermione suspected, the string of huffs were really directed at her.

She pulled a medium sized book with a red cover down and opened it to a random page. Draco was in the room just across the hall. It seemed to Hermione that she could feel the weight of him, and the distance, as a tangible thing. She imagined him sitting stiffly at a table, hands clasped in front of him as if to say, "You see, here are my hands, I'm hiding nothing." But also, "I will give you only this much. The rest is mine."

She shifted restlessly and turned a page in an imitation of reading and Ron huffed again. Hermione's finger trailed slowly down the page as her mind swam with the possibilities of what was happening across the hall. It did occur to her that he could be telling the Order (and, oh God, Harry) about _them._ But, her concern over that faded as she imagined the agony that Draco must be going through. He was openly defying everyone who had ever loved him, and baring himself to people he believed hated him. And, she knew, Draco would hold nothing back, keep nothing for himself if he thought it would help them. Even if it terrified him to be so open and vulnerable. She was glad she wasn't in there. It would be worse.

Hermione stood at the bookcase, her finger stalled on the page of the forgotten book in her hand, as a memory filled her vision. She heard the crush of fallen leaves under her feet, months ago now, on a sunny day in the Forbidden Forest, suddenly still. And she remembered the contrast of black against the sun-dappled trees. And the sound, the terrible sound - as she stepped though the boundary of a silencing spell – the terrible, all-consuming sound of heartache. Her stomach clenched around the heavy stone in her gut.

The restlessness returned tenfold and she snapped the red book shut to pull out another. And another. Her agitation and desperation to do something, anything, to make this better for Draco was becoming a frantic energy inside her. Wild ideas flew through her head. She began to imagine ways she could do this in his stead (a form of Polyjuice?) or maybe through modified Legilemency, or, _damn,_ if she could just figure out where Gryffindorness came from, she could cut some out of her…

The swooshing sound of the door opening across the hall turned everyone's head. A moment later, the soft click of it closing followed, and the library door opened. Remus Lupin peeked his sandy blonde head in.

"Hello, you three. Just wanted to let you know that we're all finished. I think it went very well. Draco Malfoy is going to be quite valuable, eh? Alright, I'm off."

"Wait up, Remus, I'll go down with you," Ginny said as she followed him out, leaving the door open behind her and leaving Hermione staring with her mouth open at the closed door across the hall. Ron huffed again, making the object of his annoyance clear, but Hermione's attention was elsewhere.

* * *

Stepping into the hallway, Draco turned to find a head of large honey brown curls right in front of him. Her wide eyes connected with his and Draco got the impression she was trying to convey some message through her eyes alone. There was hope there, he thought, but something else too. Uncertainty, maybe. Potter nudged around him and scampered down the stairs, no doubt following the smell of food, and Hermione and Draco both quickly looked away from each other. When Potter was gone, Draco looked back to find a small, shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. And her cheeks seemed to have gone slightly pink like she'd just remembered what they'd done the night before.

A moment later, the Weasel stepped around Granger and barreled his way between them, eyes narrowed at Draco with a hateful glare and clipping Draco's shoulder hard on his way past. It was on the tip of his tongue to disparage the overgrown ape's manners, when Mr. Weasley appeared over Draco's shoulder, followed by the Headmaster. Draco stepped to the side to let them pass.

"Hermione, you'll stay for dinner, won't you? Ginny has been missing you terribly, and we'd all love to hear what you've been up to." Draco blushed for the second time in as many minutes, grateful that the attention was on the Head Girl.

"Yes, thank you," she replied brightly, hesitating for moment before following Mr. Weasley down the stairs.

Dumbledore clapped a hand onto Draco's shoulder and offered to show him to a quieter (less Weasleyesque) floo in a third floor room.

The winter light was softly dying when he returned to Hogwarts. Drifting in through his charmed window, it cast his room in a quiet grey haze, a touch of dusky pink at the edges. Draco stood in the middle of his room and exhaled, long and slow. The four poster, the large desk, the leather couch, even his favorite arm chair… all seemed diminished somehow. Familiar, comforting, but smaller. After all the movement and business of Grimmauld Place, the silence and stillness of his room was a welcome relief. Draco sunk into his work chair and lay his cheek down on the cool surface of the old wood desk.

He was exhausted. Used up. The will to move or think seeped out of his body with his breath, fled out over the wood and dissipated. The movement of stomach, in and out with his breath, pressed into his arms hanging limply in his lap, and retreated. Press, retreat. He closed his eyes.

He wasn't sure if he'd drifted off, but when he opened his eyes again, the grey twilight was still crawling slowly into darkness. He looked out the sideways window, with his head still resting on the desk, watching it fade. His body still felt heavy and drained, and he felt too tired to actually sleep. Without removing his cheek from the cool desk, his hand lazily drifted to the side drawer and pulled out a small sheaf of elegant, embossed parchment. Draco lifted his head off the desk surface, feeling his skin pull off with a reluctant _thwick._ Perhaps he had fallen asleep after all.

He placed the parchment in front of him and a quill next to it and stared at it for a long moment with his hands in his lap, before picking up the quill.

_Dear Mum,_

_I joined the Order of the Phoenix today. _

His quill stopped, but his heart throbbed with a hard, dull, horrible ache. After a few minutes, he added:

_I miss you. _

Emptiness engulfed him.

For some time, Draco stared at the parchment, letting the words blur under his unfocused gaze. At last, he stood up, abandoned the letter and made his way to his bathroom. The cool room was dark with only the barest touch of the dusky light making its way around the door. Draco needed the dark. Needed the approximation of sleep, of night, needed to rest. He pulled his wand out of his sleeve and started the large tub filling. The rushing sound of the water brought back bits of the day. The pounding in his head when he thought he'd have to confess his feeling for the Head Girl. His agitation as he spilled his family secrets. The sudden swoosh of his courage, from his stomach down through the floor, when he was faced with the tapestry. And his father's face, accusing in needlepoint.

He disrobed slowly, letting everything pile up in a black heap at the side of the tub. When the tub was full, he stepped in.

Inch by inch, the warm water slowly swallowed him. Inching up his strong calves, over his knees, over the long length of his naked thighs, swallowing his soft cock, fingertips, up, up his arms and his stomach. The black surface swelled and rippled with thin, slowly undulating lines of the faint pink-grey dusk that had snuck in. Draco bent his knees and the warm water continued to fill in around him. Now his chest and his broad back, now his shoulders, his hard collarbone, now filling in around his neck. He closed his eyes then and didn't stop, letting the water surround him fully. Now his chin and the back of his head, now his mouth, now his ears, now over his closed eyes, now his pale bright hair floating in waves around his head like a halo. Down, down, until the warm water had closed in over him and taken him deep into its thick, dark silence. Down. Down. Where there was no more talking, no more thinking, where his body wasn't heavy with guilt, indecision, or love.

*waves* Oh, I know you all thought this was abandoned, but I promise you that it has been very much on my mind for the last (almost) two years. My munchkin is affording me a bit more time, so hopefully we'll be seeing more of each other in 2012. There is more to come. Really.

I dedicate this chapter on ff to Angelus-Aurelle my 1000th reviewer. Thank you for your chapter by chapter reviews (I love that - its like I get to experience it with you). The inspiration, indeed, has been reinstated. Thank you.

I do hope you liked this chapter despite the lack of sexytimes (more of that to come too). Please let me know what you think!

-xoxo ilke


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33 The Deluge

It was quiet underwater. It was quiet inside Draco. His arms floated in front of him, a milky, dusty color and lifeless against the dark grey-black. The tips of his hair were moon-white, drifting in and out of his vision like soft sea plants in a gentle current. His lungs burned.

Draco surfaced to take a long breath, the soft lapping of water echoing off the marble like a cave, and then sunk back down into the silence. Again. And again. Slowly. Letting the darkness soothe him and the water hold him. And then, when he no longer remembered why he needed this, he surfaced one last time.

He had work to do.

Just as Draco reached out to tug one of the Great Hall's doors open, a loud thud slammed against the other side of the door. He smirked sardonically. Right on time, then. Feeling his annoyance swell, he pulled out his wand and swung the door open quickly. Before the poltergeist had a chance to turn around, he was immobilized over the middle of the Ravenclaw tables. He rolled in place, cackling hysterically. Spells on poltergeists were tricky and often unreliable, but this would have to do for the moment.

"Think you've caught ol' Peevsie?" he giggled, "Well, we'll just see-ee…" There might have been more, but the rotund little man seemed to lose the thread on a peal of laughter as he rolled.

Wet dishrags lay in small piles on the floor around each of the gargoyle torches that flanked the length of the Great Hall. It looked like a game of Snake Pit that had an unfortunate accident with the laundry. A badger-shaped gargoyle had a towel dripping from its nose.

Draco shook his head. If Peeves had been flesh and blood, Draco was pretty sure he'd be locked in a broom closet in the Janus Thickey Ward. Peeves continued to rotate in place like a spastic kid rolling down a hillside, only without going anywhere. "Whoooo hoooooo oooooooo" he warbled as he turned. Draco cast a silencing spell at him but it didn't take.

"Silencio. Silencio. Can't keep Peevesie shut when he knows secrets about Draco-o. O. O. Oooo," he sang.

Outwardly, Draco rolled his eyes, but a small knot was tightening in his stomach.

"Snakes and lions sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-Geeeeee."

A burst of anger focused Draco's magic and crackled down his arm as he yelled out, _"Waddi Wassi,"_ sending the little man flying through the air along with every piece of gum ever stuck to the underside of a table in the Great Hall. With a heavy thud and large, surprised eyes, the poltergeist was stuck fast upside down to the wall by the Sytherin tables. A giant multi-colored gob of old gum stretched over Peeves' mouth like colorful barnacles, silencing him rather effectively (if disgustingly), Draco thought.

Draco shoved the tip of his wand to the poltergeist's neck and growled. "Listen well, Peeves, because I'm only going to say this once. You're going to make yourself scarce for the rest of the year. If I hear your inane cackle even _once_ or have to clean up after you ever again, being strung up with a gob of chewing gum will seem like a Sunday picnic." Peeves' eyes were big and round, his mouth moving beneath the gum. "I happen to know that the Bloody Baron is back from his holiday this very evening," Draco said threateningly. "You'd do well to remember that he and I are on a first-name basis."

Peeves' hat jingled frantically as the little man shook his head in upside-down acquiescence. Draco leaned in close to Peeves' round face with a malicious sneer. "And, Peeves?" Draco tapped his wand on the swathe of old gum stretched over his mouth, "I advise you to keep your mouth… SHUT."

Draco waved his wand at the door and both panels swung open, followed by a flailing poltergeist whose backside was covered in clumps of gum, and whose mouth was, most definitely, shut.

The heavy doors swung closed and Draco released a long sigh.

Hermione watched her breath fan out on the cold window pane, a smudge of grey obscuring the dark landscape. It had been snowing heavily since she returned to Hogwarts late in the evening.

The Head Common Room was empty as she had known it would be. Draco would be exhausted and likely in need of solitude after his long day. Still, disappointment flooded through her and she sagged against the window frame.

Going to Grimmauld Place had been a mistake. The buzz of activity – with long-limbed Weasleys running up and down stairs and through narrow hallways, the countless rounds of hugs and well wishes, and "How were your holidays?" and "We missed you so much!"

and the irritating storm cloud of Ron's temper following her around – had left her frazzled.

She welcomed the stillness of the castle. Its drafty, empty halls. The classrooms, dark and waiting. The cavernous Great Hall. And space. All that space. And quiet. And Draco.

After an entire day on edge, her anxiety about Draco had finally slipped into an undercurrent of resigned agitation.

Hermione sighed and pushed away from the window. A gleam of orange-grey light from the dying fire flickered over Draco's desk, and she picked up the note she'd left there, chewing her lip and staring at what she'd written.

Dinner at Grimmauld Place had been tense. With Draco gone but still the topic of conversation, Ron's simmering petulance threatened to boil over. Hermione's silence on the subject and Harry's quiet willingness to see past the Slytherin's past, was quickly unraveling Ron. Harry's method of dealing with him was to escape under the guise of needing to talk to Lupin or Mr. Weasley.

Hermione wasn't so lucky. Alone in the sitting room after dinner, Ron's long fingers jabbed accusingly at her. "How bloody thick are you, Hermione?" he spat. "You know he's just using you! He's a _SLYTHERIN!_"

And there it was. Her anger and understanding and her pain for Draco flared up into a towering maelstrom, twisting out of control along with her fear of the terrible things she felt constantly on the edge of.

A spectacular row ensued and she'd had to cast a _Muffliato_ twice in order to not bring the entire Order down on them. The intensity of her anger surprised her (and Ron) and she spent the rest of the evening distracted by her reaction. Even now her busy brain was searching for answers.

Her forehead landed on the cold glass and she puffed out a weary breath. "What the hell am I doing?" She stayed like that for a few minutes with no answers forthcoming. Her brain felt as empty and muddled as the black landscape being buried under the snow outside. She yawned, her body suddenly heavy, and decided that it was time to put her brain to bed.

Back in her room, Hermione pulled on a pair of loose, flannel pajamas and began to climb under her covers when she remembered that she had somewhere to be.

"Damn," she muttered to herself and slipped on her cloak, fastening the clasp at the neck.

The brisk air skating over Hermione's cheeks as she descended four flights of stairs gave her a surface alertness that was in direct opposition to the slowness of her mental state. She pulled her cloak over her messy curls to ward off the chill. She honestly hoped that Peeves was nowhere in sight. She just didn't have the capacity to deal with him tonight on top of everything else. As she pulled open the heavy arched door, a soft puddle of grey light spilled out onto the dark stone floor, eclipsed by her shadow as she stepped inside and came to an abrupt halt as the door closed behind her

Her mouth opened in awe. The Great Hall was sparkling in a misty hush, immense and quiet. The snow fell, thick and heavy. Huge, fat flakes floating slowly, so slowly, down, down, down, to just above the house tables, lower than she'd ever seen, as if the enchantments on the ceiling just couldn't quite hold up under the weight of the deluge.

So slow. She felt as though she had stepped into another world, where time moved like molasses so that the sky could unload its heavy burden. With her head angled up to the ceiling, the hood of her cloak fell back. There was no breeze in the air, no chill, just a soft, thick caress, like a gentle hand on her face.

At the end of the hall, silvery pale moonlight struggled through the huge window, washing the head table in dusty blue light before giving up and leaving the rest of the hall to lie in shadow. Hermione felt small.

She'd missed Peeves, or he hadn't been here at all, and she hoped that he'd moved on to other nuisances. Tomorrow, this hall would be filled once again with the raucous sound of students clamoring to see who got the best Christmas gifts, who visited whom over the break, and all the drama and gossip that entailed. Tomorrow, she and Draco would go back to being Head Girl and Head Boy, and maybe that was all. Tomorrow, everything would be different. But tonight, the Great Hall was a beautiful, silent jewel that seemed to have no sense of time or change.

Hermione's eyes fell to the Slytherin table to where Draco sat. She imagined him sitting there, washed in that dewy blue moonlight. Loneliness flooded her. She made her way through the thick snowfall as it swirled languidly around her skin, never touching, never melting, never giving any proof that it was really there at all.

Hermione stood in front of his seat and flattened her hand on the table, fingers spread wide, and stared at it, pale and moonlit against the black polished wood. A long breath that felt like it had been gathered in the silent ache in her heart escaped, and the snow swirled in front of her. She dragged her fingertips over the polished surface, over the scrapes of letters, lingering over the pits and scratches that were his. She felt like her heart was trying to pump through a vice, and she thought she could smell him, and suddenly she wished she hadn't come here, but her hand felt glued to the spot, to him, so she just closed her eyes and breathed.

The warm, gentle scent of his skin – of sandalwood and warmth – wound around her, and she imagined it was _him._ She imagined she could feel the thrum of his magic shimmering in the space between them. And then his breath was near her ear, and his large hands gently wrapped around her upper arms.

Hermione's eyes snapped open.

"Thinking of someone… _special?_"

A burst of fire flamed under her cheeks and the vice let go of her heart as it hammered in her chest. She didn't dare turn around. Oh, God. Oh, _God!_

"Hello, Princess."

"I…I…I…" Hermione stuttered in a whisper. Her breath was stuck in her throat in embarrassment at having been caught by the very subject of her thoughts and then those thoughts revealed so openly. She could melt the snow with the heat radiating off her face.

"Shhhhhh," he whispered and pulled her back against his chest, burying his face in her curls. His breath was a moist swirl of warmth in the crook of her neck and she closed her eyes again. He inhaled deeply and groaned.

"God, I missed you, Granger," he whispered, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Her stomach swooped and she felt a little dizzy. Then he was pulling the curls off her shoulder, the cool air hitting her skin, contrasting with his hot, wet mouth dragging up her neck.

And then she let go, let the anxiety she'd felt all day slip away, and she sunk back into his chest, her gaze losing focus through the falling snow.

Draco's warm breath fanned out just under her ear. "Granger…" It was hot and low and tender and the ache in her abdomen grew heavier. This… yes, _this_ is what she wanted, what she needed. To be lost in this quiet, thick place with Draco wrapped around her, swallowing the chaos in her head and heart, until she couldn't think or reason her way out of it.

His hair was a silky whisper against her skin as he kissed and sucked along her neck, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear, each wave of his breath making her shudder. Draco's long fingers wrapped around the front of her throat until the full column of her neck was covered by his hand, his knuckles against her jaw angling her head up. She could feel the slight pressure of his strong fingers pressed around her throat – just enough to make her suck in a breath and her head begin to feel swollen. Just enough for the uncurling ache low in her abdomen to swell.

His other hand slipped down her neck, between her breasts, and down, gathering and slipping over her cloak as he roamed her body slowly, in time with the snow, making Hermione feel like she was in a dream. Slowly over her hips, the tops of her thighs, smoothing across her stomach, and travelling up over her ribs and her breasts. A small sound escaped her when he passed over her tightening nipple. He paused there, pinched her gently, then more roughly. She groaned and Draco's mouth suddenly grew more insistent. His hand on her neck tilted her head back to expose her neck further. He growled and dragged his mouth and teeth up the side of her neck, sucking and nipping at her soft skin.

In the back of her mind, Hermione was dimly aware that the Great Hall was not the best place for the Head Girl to be making out with the Head Boy, but it was hard to focus on anything beyond Draco's hands everywhere on her. She let out a low moan. And then suddenly his hands were _there,_ on her skin, slipped into her robe, under the hem of her shirt, dragging over the soft skin of her stomach, and she came out of her haze long enough to pull her wand out and quickly cast three locking spells, a _Notice-Me-Not_ spell, and a strong repelling charm on the massive doors.

"_Fuck,_ Granger…" His fingers immediately went to the clasp at her throat and unhooked her cloak, followed by the top button of her shirt, yanking them both roughly down over one shoulder until the fabric caught on her arm, his hot mouth following their path, biting her shoulder. Frantic energy coursed through her. The hand on her stomach moved up under her shirt to cup her bare breast and she arched into it eagerly.

"God, I fucking want you so bad. I want to see you-" he cut off and in a heartbeat her flannel shirt was hanging wide open at her sides. Cool air hit her skin, pebbling her nipples and contrasting sharply with the fire rushing from her face, down her neck, and over her naked chest where her are breasts were now very much on display, right out in the open, in the Great Hall. It was mortifying and exhilarating.

Draco cupped her breasts with both hands, pushing them up, and groaning with satisfaction. His hands were all over her exposed tits, pulling and twisting at her nipples. Hermione reached up behind her and tangled her fingers in his cool, silky hair, arching and shuddering against him. He rolled and pinched her tight nipples hard between his fingers until she moaned out into the snowfall, "Uungh…," writhing with the pleasure-pain of it and pushing her ass against his hard cock.

"Fuck," he bit out and pinched her harder, making her stomach clench suddenly. One nipple remained throbbing between his thumb and forefinger as his other hand slipped down her stomach, dipping below the waist of her pajamas. She held her breath.

His long fingers skimmed her slick pussy lips. Back and forth. Back and forth. "Granger, you naughty little tart. What would people say if they knew the Head Girl walked around the castle with no knickers on?" She wanted to defend herself – pajamas and nighttime and sleeping – but she couldn't get her brain to connect to her tongue while his fingers slid along her folds, separating her sex, and teasing her slippery opening.

"Mmmm, God, and you're so wet." His fingers flicked at her swollen clit and she gasped out loud. She could feel Draco's smirk against her neck. "What would people say if they knew Hermione Granger was in the Great Hall with her pussy dripping wet?" At this, he plunged two fingers deep insider her. A great ache swelled in Hermione's core and her skin prickled with heat. She felt suddenly unsteady – the tension in her core coiling tighter as her legs opened wider for his hand as she tried to push her clit against the pad of his hand. He ignored her body's plea and pushed into her again and again, the wet sound muffled by the falling snow, but not enough. Her embarrassment was at war with her desire for Draco to notstop_pleasefuck_don'tstop.

A small flick of his tongue over her ear, and his voice was almost menacing, "Everyone would want to taste you. They'd want to stick their tongues up in that pretty pussy and lick and suck until you screamed." Oh my God. How did he do this to her? Hermione felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin, but he just kept going. Her teeth clenched together and she ground her pelvis down against his hand, desperate and achy.

"What would people say- What would your _friends_ say – if they knew how much you liked having my fingers shoved in her pussy? Hmmm, kitten?" He slowly pulled his fingers out, skimming her clit, and then thrust them back in. She made a low sound in her throat and rolled her hips against his hand, her breath coming in great heaving gulps.

"Mmmm, that's it, Granger." His voice in her ear was deep and rough and it made her want to surrender or just lay down or climb into his skin or anything. She rolled her hips shamelessly, again and again.

Draco pulled his fingers away and brought them to Hermione's mouth, coating her lips with her own slippery wetness. His mouth got closer to her ear, and his voice lowered. "What would people say if they knew that you like to taste your pussy?"

Her mouth opened in a small "o" of shock and Draco sunk his two wet fingers into the heat of her mouth. Her lips closed around them as he plunged them in and out over her tongue. She did like it. There was something both wanton and powerful about knowing her own taste- earthy and rich. And she liked the way Draco made her do it. His fingers pressed down on the flat of her tongue as he pulled them out, and then thrust them slowly in again. Like he was fucking her mouth. Her tongue swirled eagerly around his fingers and he groaned loudly, pushing his hips into her and rocking the length of his cock against her.

"Greedy," he growled. With his fingers still in her mouth, and the rest on her jaw, he turned her to face him at last. Through her half-closed eyes, she saw him, a soft wash of pale blue on his cheeks, his hair slivery and moon-bright, eyes glittering in the dark and his black robes almost lost in the shadows. And then he moved closer, tilting her head back and licking at her coated lips, at his own fingers still in her mouth, taking his share of her juices, and pulling her mouth open for more. Then his fingers were gone and replaced by his tongue, plunging into her mouth, twisting around her tongue and diving in again. Hermione was caught in the avalanche of Draco's kiss.

His hands were on her ass, pulling her closer, pulling her up, and her sore, peaked nipples rubbed against his robes as he took her mouth. Her pushed her core against him with her writhing hips. She felt desperate and wild. She was going to unravel.

Closer. She needed to get closer. Her legs wrapped around him as he pulled her up, grinding her pussy against his hard cock and pushing small growling sounds into her mouth with his tongue. His hands pulled at her waistband, tugging her pants down even while he held her up. The winter air ghosted over her newly bared skin, and then she felt cold wood under her as he set her down on the edge of the Slytherin table and stepped away, pulling her bottoms down her legs and letting them fall to the floor.

When the snow had really begun to fall just after Peeves' departure, that had really been something. Draco had stood there for a long time watching the air fill with the huge fat snowflakes. It was beautiful. But _this…_ This was a sight Draco didn't want to forget as long as he lived and he took a moment to stand back, panting, to take it all in.

Hermione Granger sat on top of the Slytherin table bathed in dusty moonlight like a fucking goddess on an altar with the thick snow falling all around her.

Her curls were loose and wild around her face, and her pretty mouth, swollen and dark from his kisses, still shone with wetness. One milky shoulder was bared where her cloak and shirt caught on her upper arm, and then hung open at her sides, framing her full breasts and dark, hard nipples, and pooling on the table behind her. She leaned back on her hands and the fabric slipped off her other shoulder. Draco watched the blue-grey light sliding over her breasts, rising and falling with her breathing, her thighs bare and slightly spread and _fuck_ her legs were opening for him, her feet resting on the bench below. She looked utterly debauched.

Draco moved into the space between her parted legs and pushed her knees up until she had both feet resting wide apart on the edge of the table, her thighs splayed open. Her breathing quickened under his perusal and he hid a grin, knowing how self-conscious being looked at made her. He pushed her knees open further and moonlight spilled over her glistening pussy lips.

_Fuck._ She was glorious. A perfect 'M'. Her wet pussy bared at the center just for him.

He watched her swallow nervously and his hand went to his iron hard cock, stroking himself through his trousers. "Spread your pussy for me, Granger. I want to see you wide open for me." God, how was he going to last? He squeezed his cock hard as Hermione's slim fingers tentatively slipped into her wet folds and spread her lips, exposing her engorged clit and the darkness at her core.

"Fuck, you look incredible!" He pushed her knees out as far as they went again, and held them open, staring down at her gaping sex before sinking one long finger deep inside her hot, wet pussy. Her eyes slid shut and her head fell back as she clenched her muscles around his finger. They both groaned.

"Aww, Granger, is all this for me?" he taunted as he pumped his finger in her, delighting in the wet sound and the blush blossoming on her cheeks and chest.

He pulled out his drenched finger and circled her pebbled nipple and areola, spreading her pussy juice it until it shined. He leaned forward and sucked her wet nipple into his mouth, grinning to himself when she gasped and pushed her tits forward. He sucked hard and she hissed through her teeth and bent her back even more as he pulled and tugged at her nipples.

His hand went back to her pussy, thrusting two fingers roughly into her, as his other hand sunk into the curls at the back of head, pulling her forward so he could whisper in her ear.

"What would everyone think of you now? If they could see their pure Gryffindor Princess with her legs spread open on the Slytherin table for _me?_ What if they saw you holding your pussy lips open while your juice leaks all over the table?" She was shaking and breathing hard, her hips rolling against his hand, even as she continued to hold herself open. "What would everyone think if they could see you fucking yourself on my fingers?" His thumb skated over her clit and she rolled her hips hard. "I bet you want to come, don't you?"

"Yes. God, _yes._" Draco's unrelenting dirty talk, and his blissful torture of her body had her wound so tightly with need that her answer tumbled from her mouth without hesitation. But it must have been the wrong answer, because he suddenly pulled his fingers out of her and slapped her exposed clit hard. She blinked in the stinging pleasure. Her empty pussy clenched, wanting more.

"I bet you do," he teased. "Now, lay back and keep your pussy lips spread open so I can get a proper look at my feast." He released her hair and moved to sit down on the bench. Hermione felt frantic with _need_. In this moment, she would do anything he asked. She lay back on the cold table with her feet and knees spread wide, and the fingers of both hands stretching open her throbbing, desperate pussy. She opened her eyes to the ceiling, waiting anxiously for his touch, while fat snowflakes drifted slowly down over her, coming so close that she almost thought she could feel them landing. A million tiny almost-kisses prickling all over her exposed flesh.

As the bench scraped on the stone floor, Hermione swallowed with dawning embarrassment. Draco was sitting with this face inches from her spread open pussy. She could feel his warm breath fan over her wet sex. She felt like she was about to be pulled apart and inspected and devoured. If her past encounters with Draco were anything to go by, it wasn't far from the truth.

But then his mouth was on her, hot and wet, licking slowly up her slippery opening and darting inside, and her eyes rolled back in relief. And his fingers filled her up again, shoved deep inside her and curling over that place she could never get on her own.

Draco pushed her hands away and her fingers curled over the edge of the table. He was sucking on her pussy lips, hard, making them feel thick and swollen and achy. His tongue made a broad sweeping stroke over her clit before darting inside her again. It wasn't enough. Nowhere near enough! She couldn't stop her hips from gyrating against his mouth in a bid for more.

"Please. Please," she whispered into the snowfall. There were cooling lines of sweat at her temples and her shoulders trembled. "Please, Draco."

A swipe over her clit again. And then sucking, yes. YES! And then he was back to sucking on her sensitive lips and stretching them open while he thrusting his tongue into her. She was a writhing, frenzied vessel of ache and need and she stared up at the pale, moonlit blanket of snowfall feeling like the whole Great Hall was witness to her unraveling.

Draco fastened his mouth over her clit again. "Yes. Please," she begged. He sucked hard, groaning and flicking his tongue repeatedly over her hard nub, swirling around it and flicking, all the while sucking and thrusting his fingers deep into her pussy. His fingers came out for a moment and he swirled her juices over the tight bud of her asshole. The sensation sent an enormous shiver careening up her spine and into her skull. Oh my God. Oh my God. _OhmyGod!_

And then he did it. With his tongue gently laving her swollen clit, he slowly pushed a long, thick finger into her tight asshole at the same time as two other fingers filled her pussy again. Hermione's eyes slammed shut and her back arched, her breasts thrust up into the air, and her whole body went rigid. The feeling of being filled in both passages took her breath away. He pulled out from both her holes at once and then pushed back in together, swiping over her clit with his tongue at the same time.

Her orgasm shot through her, starting from somewhere deep in her spine, making her legs and torso quake as it moved towards her center, and then exploding in deep strong spasms in her pussy.

Draco had never been one to vanish clothes, but in that moment, he felt pretty damn close to whipping out his wand and freeing his cock instantly. His shirt was wrenched off in a heartbeat and his fingers fumbled over his belt. Every muscle in his body seemed to be screaming at him to move faster. _Faster!_ Granger's eyes were wide as the walls of her pussy's pulsing slowed and then she looked up at him with that glazed look and he yanked her up and kissed her hard.

"I'm going to…" he ground out as his tongue thrust into her mouth and he struggled to get his pants off, "Fuck you." He kicked his pants off. "Into the fucking table." He fisted a mess of curls in one hand and pulled back hard, making her gasp as he nipped at her neck, and then suddenly flipped her over so her tits pressed into the scratched wood and her knees rested on the bench. He flipped her cloak up over her back so her perfect round ass was thrust out beautifully before him. His hands pushed her ass cheeks apart and there was her tight, rosebud asshole, shining from her pussy juice, and _there,_ his prize, her dripping wet cunt.

Draco buried his cock in her hot pussy in one movement and then stayed there, eyes shut tight, trying not to come on the spot. "Fuuuuuuuck," he bit out into the air. Slowly he pulled back, feeling her walls sucking at him, and then pushed back in hard, making her grunt loudly and her hands reach up to grip the far edge of the table. Draco leaned over her and wrapped his hand around the column of her throat, pressing his sweaty temple to hers. He used his grip on her throat to push deeper inside her and her pussy clenched down on his cock. He growled.

"Feel my cock buried inside you, Granger? Open your eyes. Open them. Look." He angled their faces so they were staring at the exact spot at the Gryffindor table where she sat every day, surrounded by her friends who, he _knew,_ all thought of her as a paragon of virtue. "What would your Gryffindors say if they knew you had my cock buried in your pussy? If they knew your pussy juice was smeared all over the Slytherin table?" She moaned and pushed back against him, squeezing his cock tight. Draco clenched his teeth. _Minx._

His fingers tightened a bit on her throat and she moaned again, her knuckles going white on the edge of the table. He kept his grip and pulled out of her heat and then thrust back in again. He felt her grunt stifled by his hand on her neck and he continued to thrust into her while he tormented her. "What would they think of you if they knew you were writhing on the Slytherin table with your legs spread wide open while I sucked on your clit?" He slammed into her again, so close. "What if they knew that you came with my fingers in your pussy and your ass?"

She whimpered and bucked her hips and that was it for him. He could no longer talk over his need to pound into her and come deep inside her. Draco slammed into her, again and again, feeling her "ugh, ugh, ugh" catch under his fingers around her slim neck. He felt the pressure in his spine spreading up through his body as the heavy table scraped against the floor. His fingers let go of her neck and fisted once again in her hair, tugging back hard so she arched and let out a guttural sound that sent him over the edge. Draco's body was tight and rigid as he spilled into her for what seemed an eternity. Still buried in Hermione's pussy, he finally relaxed his grip on her hair and let his head fall on her back.

They were both breathing hard and coated in a sheen of sweat while the snow continued to fall all around them. Draco didn't move for a long time, feeling Hermione's breath even out, and her fingers relax on the table.

"Granger…."

"Mmmm?" she answered sleepily.

"_I love you._" he meant to say. "_I'm_ in _love with you._" But instead he said, "Stay with me tonight," and threaded their fingers together.


End file.
